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mimi-cee-hq · 3 years ago

Text

A Genuine Mess - Atsumu x f!reader

Pairing: Atsumu x f!reader

Summary: Atsumu insults you, the quietest girl in his class. But as he gets to know you, your few words often leave him blushing.

Genre, etc.: Tooth rotting fluff, Atsumu is a dork in love but still consistent with his canon character, reader is quiet but not timid

Warnings: none

Author's Notes: I wanted to try a different personality for the reader as well as taking one of Atsumu's negative character traits and flipping it on its head :) This was fun to write. Hehehe.

Words: 1.9k

*****

"What? She's here for me?" said Atsumu. He pressed his lips together to hide the smile forming on his lips. As he attempted to walk to the gym doors as normally as possible, Aran tilted his head while Osamu wore an amusing smirk.

Atsumu leaned on the frame of the gym doors. "What'd ya want?" he asked you, trying to be as smooth as possible. His voice didn't reveal his usual arrogance and was unexpectedly gentle.

"Could I see your hand?" you asked him with a quiet but direct tone.

When he held his hand out in front of you, you delicately turned it over, palm faced down, and positioned his fingers one by one. You didn't notice him gripping the side of his jersey in his other hand, trying to keep it together every time your fingers grazed his skin. You let go of his hand to pull out your phone and angled it to get a good shot of his hand.

Click.

"Thank you Atsumu-san," you told him, putting your phone away and leaving the gym.

Atsumu returned to the court, not even able to hide the childish grin from his teammates anymore. Some widened their eyes and others dropped their jaws as they witnessed the entire scene.

"So when did you start liking her?" Suna asked him.

"I don't like her," Atsumu adamantly responded.

A laugh escaped Osamu's lips and Atsumu told him to shut up. He hated that his twin knew exactly why he was acting like this.

*****

"Well that looks ugly."

Seated at your desk, you looked up from your sketch to see Atsumu's scrunched up nose. It didn't take long for it to disappear. Osamu whacked him on the head for insulting the quietest girl in class two and quite possibly their whole year.

"Sorry about this jerk," Osamu told you. "He doesn't have a filter."

But when he started to drag Atsumu away from you, they heard the rare sound of your voice.

"Miya-san," you said.

They both turned around but after looking at each other, they assumed you were referring to your classmate Atsumu.

"Why does it look ugly?"

"Ha?" Atsumu gawked at you. He scratched the back of his head. "I dunno. The shoulders just looked gross"–he got whacked on the head again–"Hey!" He glared at Osamu.

After they bickered for a bit, they turned their attention back to you, but you were already facing your desk, immersed in your sketch. Osamu raised an eyebrow at Atsumu, expecting him to know what that was all about, but he only shrugged his shoulders, not having a clue either.

The next time Atsumu heard your voice was when you came to see him at his desk.

"Ha? What's this?" he asked.

In front of him, you had placed another sketch. You didn't say a word but looked at him as if you were expecting some sort of comment.

Atsumu raised an eyebrow but looked at the sketch anyway.

"What's wrong with this dude's hand?" he asked as he squinted at the drawing, holding your sketchbook up to his eyes. "It looks like it's dislocated or something."

The classmate beside him shot his eyes open. He then looked up at you to see your reaction.

"Thank you," you told Atsumu with a little nod before returning to your desk. Those were the only words you had for Atsumu and they had left him and his classmate speechless.

Atsumu's eyes lit up the third time you came to his desk.

"Which one looks the worst?" you asked him, showing him three different sketches.

"This one," he said, pointing to the one in the middle. "There's no way a person could have hair like that."

You ignored his comment and asked him again which one looked worse. He still chose the middle one, saying the expression reminded him too much of his brother.

You gave him a nod as thanks and as he watched you return to your desk, there was a small uptick at the corner of his mouth, gazing at you gathering your pencils together and continuing your progress.

Over the next couple of weeks, he watched you from afar as you drew doodles during class when you should've been paying attention. He wondered if he should actually write notes from the lesson in case you needed them. Maybe he'd pass them to you the next time you showed him your artwork.

But you hadn't made a trip to his desk during the next two weeks. Why did you stop coming? So when you left the classroom, he quickly opened the sketchbook that was left on your desk and went through it page by page, curious to see what you'd been drawing this whole time. As he flipped through the pages, he saw how your drawings had gradually improved. He couldn't help but smile at your growth as an artist.

"Miya-san."

He jumped at your voice and snapped the book shut. He fumbled over his words. "I wasn't looking! It just fell and I picked it up from the ground!" he told you. "When I put it back on yer desk it just happened t' be like that!"

He then saw an expression he had never seen on your face. Your brows were furrowed and your lips turned into a frown. You let out a deep breath. "Miya-san, you're free to look through my sketchbook, but please don't lie to me."

His eyes widened before he lowered them to stare at the classroom floor. Shoulders sagging, he told you in a hushed voice, "I'm sorry." He sighed and dragged his feet back towards his desk. But just when he was about to pull out his chair, he heard your soft voice.

"Miya-san," you said, looking directly at him when he turned to you. "Like I said, you can come and look at it whenever you want."

Atsumu pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a stupid grin on his face. But his eyes betrayed his attempt as they crinkled and turned into crescents, elated at your offer.

*****

Over the next several weeks, Atsumu used any excuse he could to chat with you at your desk before he finally settled on talking to you about anything and everything. He tried to get to know you, asking you questions, but your answers were short and simple, not knowing how else to respond.

However, Atsumu shamelessly continued to talk about himself, his brother, the team, and whatever else was on his mind that day. You always nodded and listened with a smile.

"I think she's just being nice to you," commented Osamu.

"She's never stopped me," Atsumu replied with a huff, crossing his arms, which only resulted in Osamu shaking his head.

Without looking up from your sketch, you told him, "I like hearing him talk."

Osamu's eyes grew at your response but when he glanced over at his twin, Atsumu's ears and cheeks had turned red.

"Oh?" the silver haired twin said with a sly grin. "You're blushing 'Tsumu."

"No I'm not!" Atsumu said after clearing his throat and turning his head away. Osamu was about to tease him when instead, you said something that deepened his blush.

"It's cute."

Osamu's jaw dropped. Atsumu froze at your comment before deciding to put his face down on your desk, burying it into his arms.

As you and Atsumu got to know each other, he learned that you were still close with your friends from middle school. They were there for you, always supporting you and your passion for art. But when you asked them what they thought about your drawings, they had always said they looked good. You were grateful for them but you couldn't tell if they were just being nice.

"So is that why you asked me about yer drawings?" Atsumu noted. You confirmed it with a nod and he looked at you with longing eyes and a soft smile.

You caught him off-guard when you took a photo of him. "Your expression was interesting just now," you told him. "I want to use it as reference."

Atsumu blushed and covered the lower half of his face. He muttered something through his hands that you didn't quite catch.

"Hm?" you asked.

"Y-you can use me as reference any time."

You took him up on his offer. You'd often snap pictures of him, casually pulling out your phone when you'd find an interesting expression on his face. You even came to see him at practice when you wanted to practice drawing some hands. He often wondered what you noticed about him when you used him as reference, what expressions you saw in him.

One day after classes had ended and volleyball practice was cancelled, he sat at the other side of your desk as you switched to a different drawing pencil from your set. What did you see when you looked at him? His eyes? His nose? His lips?

His hand rose next to your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. When you looked up at him from your drawing, he pulled his hand back, suddenly realizing what he was doing.

He bit his lip, scolding himself for doing that to you. You called his name and his attention was back on you.

"Why did you stop?" you asked.

Butterflies were fluttering in his stomach, not at all expecting those words. Looking at you through his eyelashes, he saw you directly looking back at him. Were you serious?

Somehow getting the courage to make a move, he drew his hand toward you and gently cupped your cheek. He bent over your desk and brought his lips near yours, stopping midway as if waiting for permission to follow through. You leaned in a little closer and he closed the gap, feeling your soft lips against his.

Pulling back, his eyes studied your face for some sort of reaction. He bit his lip, doubting if that was what you wanted. Perhaps he didn't do a good job or you had changed your mind after the kiss.

What if you were just doing this for reference?

He searched your eyes for an answer, not knowing that you saw the insecurity in his.

"I liked it, Atsumu."

His eyes grew. He was both delighted and flustered, not believing that he got to kiss you, that you'd accept a kiss from someone like him. He hugged you and placed a kiss on your forehead, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close.

*****

"Guys! I have a girlfriend!" Atsumu declared, storming into the gym the next day. They all raised their brows when they saw who was holding his hand.

"Are you serious?" asked Aran.

"It's probably fake," Suna commented.

"He must have bribed her or something," Osamu added.

"All of ya just shut up!" Atsumu yelled at them as they all gave him a skeptical look. He sighed and dropped his shoulders as he held your hand.

They snickered and teased him, but when there was a silent pause in the air, they heard your voice for the first time.

"I like him," you told his team. Your voice was quiet but they heard every word. They freaked out, gawking at the two of you, an unlikely pair.

Atsumu turned his face away because his cheeks went red again. Your words, more often than not, caused him to be up in a fluster.

*****

I hope you enjoyed it.

I couldn't help but have Suna say it was fake for all my "A Glimpse of Yellow" readers. lolll.

If you liked this one, you might like one of these:

1) my Tendou one-shot (timid!reader)

2) my Sakusa one-shot (where he gets a crush on exchange student!reader)

3) my Kyoutani one-shot (another unexpected pairing)

And I want to shamelessly throw in my Suna chaptered fic (fake dating) just because it's my current series. lol.

I also have a Google form for my taglist if any of you are interested in it.

#miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #atsumu scenarios #miya atsumu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fanfic #atsumu fanfic #hihqnetwork #animehorizons #angelwalker’s virtues

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Note

Hi love!

Can I please beg for Tangled Geraskier?

Rapunzel Jask. You know I’m a sucker for angst so including the scene where he cuts her hair would slay me 💖💖💖💖💖

TYILYYYYY

Hello, Stina dear! Sorry this took me actual months to write, but it broke me out of my writer’s block and for that I am eternally grateful.

I chose several pieces of the Tangled narrative to write Geralt and Jaskier into... enjoy!

2k-ish words (please leave me comments I’m so tired my dudes)

tw: blood, injury, major character (near) death, if you’ve seen Tangled you’ve seen this

---

“So,” Jaskier smiles playfully up at the thief sitting beside him. “Roger Eric, huh?”

Geralt rolls his eyes but Jaskier catches the flush that settles high on his companion’s cheekbones. “It was… It’s a long and boring story about a lot of sad little children that I’m sure you don’t want to hear on such a lovely evening.”

Jaskier scoots closer, until the sides of their arms are pressed too tightly together for even a slip of paper to slide between, and leans his weight against the thief. He bats his thick eyelashes and pouts his lip in a way that always seems to work with his Father. “C’mon, Geralt, please won’t you tell me? Just one little story? I told you about my magical hair, after all.”

“Hmm,” the thief glares dawn at the doe-eyed blonde for a moment before nervously clearing his throat. “Fine. I… I got the name Geralt of Rivia from a collection of short stories that I used to read the other boys at the orphanage in Kaedwen; they were all about this knight who was loyal and brave and courageous despite his hideous appearance. He was rejected by princesses and noble women but was beloved by the people. Having been born with white hair… well, a lot of the folks that came looking for children thought I was under a spell or curse so…. I wasn’t their first choice for adoption.”

“You and Geralt were a lot alike, then. Different. Special… Kind.”

“I wouldn’t say I was spe-”

Jaskier’s hand darts forward and his long, slender musician’s fingers grasp Geralt by the wrist. The fledgling bard clings onto his escort tightly, his large blue eyes suddenly brimming up with tears. “Don’t you dare say you aren’t special, Geralt Roger Eric whatever your surname really is. I’ll never forgive you if you spew such nonsense where my delicate ears can hear it.”

Geralt swallows thickly and glances away. Jaskier always looks so sweet and sincere; the features on his boyish face flicker in and out of focus as patterns of light thrown by their small campfire play across his pale skin. His gaze is intense, focused on Geralt and Geralt alone. The thief panics and asks: “What is it, Jaskier? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You saved me, you know. You saved me from those men back there at the inn, you saved me from being trapped in the tower all my life, you saved me from getting lost in the forest, you… you’re a good person, Geralt. Don’t let the world or the Captain of the Guard or anyone else change your mind, do you understand me? You are-” Jaskier’s hands scrabble frantically to grasp Geralt’s, as if the white-haired man might disappear entirely if Jaskier so much as loosens his grip “- you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me since I’ve been locked in that foul, awful tower!”

“Well I…” Geralt clears his throat again. He stands slowly, disentangling his hangs from Jaskier’s as he takes a slow step back. And then another. “I should go get more firewood.”

Despite the uneasiness in their parting, Jaskier smiles after him.

The momentary spell cast by their closeness is only broken when Jaskier hears a familiar voice from just behind him: “Well, I thought he’d never leave!”

The blonde jumps up from his seat and spins on his heel to face the black-cloaked wizard. “Father? How… How did you find me?”

Stregobor wraps his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders and squeezes so tightly that it feels more like a threat than an embrace. “It was easy, I simply followed the sound of absolute betrayal.”

Jaskier flinches and tries to pull away but cannot yet escape.

“I just brought you this,” his Father continues. He finally releases Jaskier and hands his son the worn leather satchel he’d found hidden in his tower. “If this Geralt creature really is the man you think him to be -and don’t deny it, little flower, I can read your thoughts- give this back to him and see how long he stays.”

“Father, I-”

“Goodbye, my child. See you soon, I’m sure. Just remember that Father knows best!”

And in a swirl of black smoke and confusion, Stregobor disappears.

---

“Why do you look so scared?” Geralt asks. He slows the small gondola he’s rented to a stop, turning it slightly more to the side so that they have a better vantage point to see the lanterns spread over the harbor from the city. Jaskier sighs deeply and shakes a stray flower petal away from his eyes, the enormous golden braid shifting ever-so-slightly against his shoulders.

“I’ve been looking out a window for eighteen years,” he says softly. Nervously. “What if… What if it’s not what I expected? I’m terrified to see what it all looks like up close because what if it doesn’t meet my expectations? What if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?”

“It will be,” Geralt replies without thinking.

“And what if it is?” Jaskier queries, voice growing frantic. “What if it’s even more spectacular than I could have ever hoped? Then my dream will have been fulfilled and I’ll just… go back to the tower again.”

“You’ll just have to find a new dream, I guess,” Geralt offers. When Jaskier settles down into the boat a bit more comfortably and smiles shyly back at him, the thief knows he’s hit the right mark for once. Behind Geralt, the first lantern lights up the sky. Jaskier gasps and points, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement; Geralt is utterly enchanted by his easy beauty. The thief digs two paper lanterns out from beneath his seat and offers one to Jaskier, giddy when he grins even more excitedly than before. “I got this for you… I hope you like it.”

“Oh, I love it! And I have something for you, too.” Jaskier turns and pulls something from behind him. The bardling hands Geralt his very own satchel, which the thief briefly accepts and then drops to the floor without a second thought. The anxious blonde musician beams over at him more gloriously than the midday sun and then turns away, blushing a sweet shade of pink. “I should have given it to you earlier, but I was so scared… and now I’m not! I’m not scared anymore!”

“Good,” Geralt smiles back. He’s elated. It feels as if his heart is glowing twice as brightly as any of the lanterns floating past and around them. “That’s very good.”

I know what my dream is now, Jaskier. Now that you’re here by my side I never want to see you frown again. You don’t deserve to be hidden away in a tower where your art is stifled… even if you don’t want to love me back in that way, I’ll still protect you. I want to see how you see the world, Jaskier. I lo-

“Geralt! Look! That one has runes painted on it, what does it say!?”

---

Geralt pulls his daggers from his belt but before he can stab them into the craigy stone wall and begin his ascent, the familiar tresses of Jaskier’s long golden hair topple down to reach him. Thank fuck, he’s still alive.

“Jaskier! I thought I’d never see you again!” he calls as he grabs hold of the thick blonde strands.

The thief climbs quickly, his arms and legs nearly cramping with the effort to hurry back to Jaskier. As he hauls himself through the large window and into the tower proper, however, he’s met with a confusing and unsettling sight: Jaskier stands across the room, a cloth gag pulled tightly between his teeth, his hands manacled together behind him. A short length of spare chain attached to the manacles keeps the frightened, struggling blonde tethered against one of the building’s thick support beams. Someone had knocked down a mirror or vase during the previous fighting; shards of pottery and silver lie scattered across the floor, working as a weak barrier to keep Geralt away from the bound man. Jaskier screams out in warning as their eyes meet: “Ghmphh!”

If Jaskier is being held captive then who let his hair do-

Before Geralt can finish fully forming his question, a bright flash of pain arcs out from his side and sends him toppling to his knees. A wet, sticky heat begins to spread from a spot beneath his ribs and when he presses his hand against his shirt it comes way red.

Oh. Oh, no...

He hears Stregobor’s voice addressing the sobbing blonde, “Now look what you’ve done, Jaskier.”

Geralt collapses to his knees and then falls to his side, curling up in the fetal position and clutching at the wound as if that will be any help at all. He knows he’s doomed, but there must be some way for him to help Jaskier… to save his… his love.

“Don’t worry, little flower, our secret will die with your little thief, here, and then we’ll be safe again. Just the two of us.”

Jaskier keens loudly and the sharp, desperate sound of it makes something deep in Geralt’s heart ache. The younger man pulls and yanks against the chains that hold him in place, his bare feet slipping against the polished floor as he tries and fails to reach the wounded Geralt.

Stregobor yanks at the lead, pulling Jaskier back harshly by the arms. The young musician’s shoulders burn with the strain of it but Jaskier pulls forward anyway, uncaring. He must save Geralt, he must. The wizard tugs him back again, more roughly, and the jarring movement loosens his gag. He spits it from his mouth and cries out: “Stregobor! Strego- Father, listen to me!”

The wizard pauses, his interest piqued by Jaskier’s use of the word Father given the circumstances. “Yes, child?”

“Father,” Jaskier pants, turning to look at the man who’d held him captive for eighteen years. The man who kidnapped him from his cradle and forced him to grow up without the love of his real parents. The man who had, mere moments ago, stabbed the love of Jaskier’s life with the full intention of killing him. “I want you to know that I won’t stop fighting you. Every moment of every day for the rest of my life will be spent trying to get away from you. I will scream and kick and struggle and yell and you will have to keep me caged away as a bird or a mouse to make me stay by your side unless-” Jaskier pauses to take a breath, his shoulders sagging as his gaze drops submissively to the floor between them “-unless you let me save this man. Let me save Geralt’s life and I will follow you all around the Continent without a single word of complaint. I will never attempt to run away or hide from you, not once. Everything will go back to being exactly like it was before, Father, I swear on his life.”

Stregobor considers for a moment.

He nods.

“Alright, then. Let’s be quick about it, little flower.”

He removes the shackles from Jaskier and clamps them tightly around Geralt’s wrists instead, securing him to the bannister at the foot of the stairs. To keep him from following us, he remarks offhandedly.

Jaskier pads his way across the floor as quickly as he can in his bare feet and falls to the ground at Geralt’s side. He pulls the wounded thief against his side to steady him and gathers two heavy handfuls of his own long hair. “I’m so sorry! Everything is going to be okay now, Geralt, I swear it.”

Geralt shoves his hands away weakly, “No, Jaskier.”

“You have to trust me, Geralt, I-”

“I c-can’t let you d-do this,” Geralt grunts, teeth gritted against the pain.

Jaskier stares down at him, tears already gathering at the corners of his sky-blue eyes. His voice trembles when he whispers, “And I can’t let you die. I won’t let you die.”

“But if you do th-this then you-” Geralt coughs and Jaskier wipes a trickle of blood away from the corner of the thief’s mouth “-you will die.”

“Shh,” Jaskier quiets him, dropping one fistfull of blonde tresses to cup Geralt’s face instead. “Everything will be alright.”

Geralt smiles sadly up at Jaskier, his decision already having been made. He lets the back of his knuckles ghost across the musician’s peach-soft cheek. Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and then open again, curious. “Jaskier, I…”

The thief uses the last of his strength to push up into a sitting position. The hand on Jaskier’s face slides back and gathers his hair at the back of his neck. Geralt’s other hand comes up, a shard of glass gripped tightly in his fist, and slices through the long blonde strands. He watches as Jaskier’s hair turns from radiant gold to chestnut brown. Geralt falls back with a short, sharp sound of agony, his vision already fading around the edges. The shard of mirror, dagger-sharp around the edges, clatters to the ground beside Jaskier.

“No!” Stregobor screams, gathering up an armful of Jaskier’s still-blonde hair. The golden hue is already fading, shifting to match the short brown hair still fluffed around his head. The lost prince watches with wide, horrified eyes as the wizard trips over a loose floorboard and goes careening out the open window.

More worrying than his kidnapper’s death, however, is the man lying in his arms, breathing shallowly. Jaskier gathers Geralt close, tucking the thief’s head against his neck and wrapping his arms around the older man’s broad shoulders. “No, no, no, no, Geralt. Stay with me, okay? Stay with me, right here.”

He grabbed at Geralt’s hand, holding it against the top of his head as he sang desperately. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back was once was mi-”

“Jaskier!” Geralt says, pulling his hand down to cup the prince’s face. He can feel his limbs growing cold and numb, distant from him and out of his control. “You… You were my new dream.”

Jaskier sobs, clinging to Geralt with all he’s worth. “And you were mine.”

Geralt manages to smile up into those beautiful blue eyes one last time. And then the world goes dark and his hand falls to the floor, limp.

---

Jaskier buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck and screams. He throws back his head and howls like a wounded animal, his heart shattering to pieces within the confines of his chest cavity. Then he quiets himself down, adjusts Geralt’s body on his lap, and finishes the song the way he’s been taught to do: “Heal what has been hurt, change the Fates’ design, save what has been lost… bring back what once was mine.”

A single tear falls from his eye and lands on Geralt’s cheek. A cheek that will never blush again, never turn up in a smile, never-

A faint yellow glow catches Jaskier’s vision, just from the corner of his eye. He turns his head to look at Geralt’s wound and gasps: the outline of a golden flower covers his abdomen, glowing so brightly that Jaskier must hide his eyes and turn away to keep from being blinded. When the glow fades enough that can safely look back again, Geralt’s wound is gone and the blood that was once staining his jerkin has disappeared.

He leans over the white-haired thief with bated breath, waiting for a movement or a breath or something… anything.

After a long moment, two honey-hazel eyes blink open. Geralt inhales quietly and then asks, with the sweetest smile Jaskier has ever seen in all his eighteen years of life, “Did I ever tell you I had a thing for brunettes?”

Jaskier squeals with glee and throws himself into Geralt’s waiting arms, pressing their eager mouths together for the first kiss of their Happily Ever After.

#geraskier #geraskier tangled au #rapunzel jaskier #flynn ryder geralt #geraskier fluff #geraskier getting together #bouncey's endless au collection #protective geralt #soft geralt #geralt whump #tangled #blood mention #blood tw #injury tw #death but only for a minute #tangled au #goob prompt fills

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hobidreams · 4 years ago

Text

october 1865.

you never thought you would smile like this again, but here you are. and here he is, by your side.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: fluffy fluff words: 5k 😳 contains: historical au, chuseok date!, eunuch kim!, so much cuteness, guest appearances hehe

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 13. start from the beginning?

“How do I look, mom?”

Standing before the mirror, you nervously smooth the delicate sash of the pink hanbok for the hundredth time, careful not to lean down too much and dislocate the floral ornament carefully pinned in your hair. There have been doves fluttering in your stomach the entire afternoon; you don’t know if you tied this correctly or if your hair is braided right, and you can’t ask any of your nearby neighbours for fear of discovery that your plans are different than theirs tonight. Mother would know exactly what to do and what to say to make you feel at ease. But want you want most is for her to see you all grown up like this. Finally able to properly wear the outfit you coveted for so long, and hold your head high in it too. You think she’d be proud.

You manage a smile as you run your fingertips along the edge of the ornament, a gift from mother on your twelfth birthday. It’s almost been a year since her passing, and you still miss her more than anything. But you also know now that the best way to honor her is to be happy, and to carry on her work, her legacy. So far, you’ve begrudgingly won a few scraps of respect from the male physicians, and it’s a start.

“I hope you’re doing well up there,” you say, letting your gaze drift out the window to the beaming Chuseok moon, hoping the wind might take your words and your love all the way to her.

“Hey. Are you ready?”

You are grateful that the door is closed because the way you snap to attention is frankly embarrassing.

"Yes, just a moment, seja-jeonha!" you say in a nervous half-whisper, half-exclamation as you allow yourself one last glimpse at the mirror. This is going to be fine. You're going to be relaxed and have a good time, even if you are sneaking out of the palace with arguably the second most important person in the country.

Putting on a smile that hopefully looks effortless, you pull open the door and practically gasp out loud at the sight of him.

It's perhaps the first time you've seen the prince out of the traditional royal robes. It's an excellent disguise -- the clothes of a young yangban lord, done in a deep-dyed scarlet that contrasts his usual navy. A cinched belt fastens the coat deftly, juxtaposed against the dragging, silky sleeves beside it, making him seem somehow more elegant in the way he holds himself. Completing the look is the gat that sits atop his head, its wide-brim tilted low so it covers enough of his face that he wouldn't be recognized, at least not to anyone who spared him a passing glance (not that they would know his face to begin with). The gat strap hangs low in front of his chest, the intricate beading betraying just how truly expensive this hat is. He is, in short, unfairly, unfathomably handsome.

You are forever grateful that you chose to dress up; if nothing else, at least you will look suitable standing next to him, at least for a night.

If Yoongi thinks anything of your outfit, he covers it with a slight cough, his cheeks faintly reddened from the cold. “Good. Come on. We have to be quick.”

You nod, following him out into the night air.

With swift steps and strategic maneuvering, it doesn't take you long to reach one side of the imposing wall that separates palace from town. There, you find a familiar face waiting for you.

"Good evening," Eunuch Kim says with a bow. He’s wearing a different, muted set of green robes and donned a gat as well. “As you instructed, the select guards have been informed to keep quiet, and all else has been taken care of. Let us go."

He likely insisted on coming, as one of the caveats for your illicit excursion. You don't mind, since this isn't the first time he's had to do such a thing, always so worried about his rebellious, stubborn charge. You watch as he lets Yoongi go past first, then gestures for you.

“You look lovely tonight, uinyeo-nim,” Eunuch Kim says, and you share a small, furtive smile that feels like he’s cheering you on. Then you step past the official gates, feeling so acutely the pattering of your pulse because this is truly happening.

For the first handful of minutes, you remain both terrified and anticipatory that you'll be snatched back by the royal guard and accused of kidnapping the prince or something equally ridiculous as being on an actual outing with him. Beside you, Yoongi doesn't seem to have these worries as he walks by your side (though still a respectful, proper distance apart), letting his arms slightly swing while he kicks up dust with his slippers.

Just as you're wondering if you're being an awful companion and not making conversation, he says, "haven't been outside the palace in ages."

“Me too. It's… a little strange, having all this freedom to roam and do what I want. Even if it’s just for a night.”

“I'll say.” Yoongi makes an exasperated noise. “There are too many rules in that place. Can't do anything without being watched.” He gives a minor tilt of his head towards your chaperone, though it's more a tease rather than actually spiteful. Eunuch Kim, for his own sake, pretends not to see or hear the jab.

You smile. “It's for your safety, seja-jeonha.”

“So they say. But they'll regret it when I die of boredom first.”

He rolls his eyes and you laugh, and the palpitations in your stomach ease just like that.

As you draw ever closer to the town, the harmony of string and wind instruments crescendo and build with the jubilant chatter of the townspeople. It's getting to you in the best of ways; you're becoming so elated at the prospect of the festivities that you start to speed up, soon practically rushing towards the town square at a pace that forces Yoongi and Eunuch Kim to run to follow.

"…Wow!"

At the base of the square, your entire face brightens with the wondrous sight unfolding before you. There are people everywhere. Some down celebratory alcohol, others munch on sweet treats, and more still singing along to the traditional folk tunes with robust vibrato, regardless of whether they’re on key or not. You can’t find a single frown amidst all this mirth, and that’s just the way you like it. It’s overwhelming: the sights, the sounds, and the mouthwatering smell of something delicious and fried.

Yoongi eventually jogs up to you, forced to inhale a few quick breaths to refill his lungs. “Are you that hungry?” He asks, the corner of his lips curling up.

Oh god, you just made the prince run.

"No...! Not at all! I’m deeply sorry, seja-jeonha. I got too excited, didn’t I?”

“Not at all. Shall we get something to eat first then?”

You avert your eyes, though you really haven’t had dinner tonight. “No, please. Let us do what you would like.”

Yoongi grins as if it is of no consequence. “What I want? Well, then, I want to go this way.”

As is his habit, he begins to walk in the direction he chooses without notice, though this time he has to weave through the people that crowd the area. His disguise is working well; he is largely ignored as he passes, leading your little group all the way to an open alleyway where stalls line each side, lit up with lamps and vividly colored banners.

A twinge of sadness squeezes your heart as you look at the spread. You faintly remember a decade ago that there used to be a full row of assorted delicacies and sweets for purchase; now it’s mostly merchants with tables of books and hairpins, food becoming too scarce for most to sell with the grain shortage, even if they need the funds. Still, everyone seems to be doing their best with what they’ve got.

Sudden shouts ring out right beside you, nearly blowing your ears out with how loud they are.

“Jeon! Freshly fried shrimp and fish jeon for sale!”

“Hot, hot, hot nokdujeon over here!”

“Gaah!” you exclaim, eyes wide. You wouldn’t be surprised if the monks up the mountain heard about this jeon! When you turn to see who the hell is making all this commotion, you’re met with the scowling faces of two men, glaring furiously at each other in-between tending to their sizzling pans in adjacent stalls. The bearded one looks about seconds away from giving the other younger man a good smack with the fishing rod leaning on the wall behind him.

Said younger man gives a snicker. “No wonder my sales are beating yours. Why would anyone want your shrimp when they could have my delicious mung beans?”

“Say that again, if you dare.”

“Why would anyone want your gross shrimp when—”

“Yah, you can take your beans and shove them right up your nasty sokgot—”

“Excuse me,” Yoongi cuts in between them with a smirk. “I’ll take two orders of each. Preferably not ones shoved anywhere.” He drops coins on both counters, more than enough to cover the food.

“Ahem.” They levy two very similar glares at each other before beginning to package the orders for consumption, switching to polite honorifics in the process. “Yes, sir!”

“Right away, sir!”

They work deftly, obviously very practiced in the art. Neither of them drop so much as a crumb, even though they seem to be racing.

"My lord, here is your order," Fish Jeon says, only to be roughly shoved aside by Mung Bean in a rush to hand over the goods first.

"Please enjoy, sir!"

Yoongi takes the round and crispy nokdujeon, all wrapped in parchment paper. His amused chuckling makes you feel a little warmer, a bit fonder than you should. Especially when he then promptly passes the package to you.

"Seja--" You cut yourself off before you make the mistake. "Um. My lord, this is for me?" You ask, even though you're practically drooling at the scent.

"Did I give it to someone else? Eat."

He turns, hands off one of the assorted jeon plates to Eunuch Kim behind him, who accepts gratefully with a bow.

You, and your stomach, don’t need to be told twice. After blowing on the golden batter, you take a generous bite, accidentally smearing a bit of it on your cheek in the process but god, it tastes incredible. Mung Bean may be loud, but he clearly doesn’t tell lies. You have to hold yourself back from inhaling the pancake whole, instead savoring each nibble on your tongue.

“Come on. Keep going before the crowd grows,” Yoongi says, urging you forward with a jerk of his chin before biting into his own pancake. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile this much before, and it’s with slight regret that you tear your eyes away to look where you’re going.

From behind you as you start to walk, you hear, "Jungkook, you brat, shouldn't you be more respectful to your elders?!"

"Whatever, hyungnim. Nokdujeon! Better-than-his-fish nokdujeon!"

There is a very distinctive thwap as you move into the merchant area.

The first booth you come to belongs to a woman that you recognize, selling the latest romance novel by a rising author, Taehyun. She recognizes you too, waving you over with enthusiasm. “Oh, hello! We just received this last week. A tale of forbidden love between a yangban lady and a fisherman! Full of tension and…” she lowers her voice conspiratorially, “more than a few kisses!”

“Do people actually read things like this?” Yoongi mutters, staring at the covers.

“Huh? No! Well, hah, I certainly don’t!” You hope your face looks plausibly innocent. “But thank you,” you turn to say to the woman before hurriedly walking on before she can expose your ruse. The prince doesn’t need to know about the precious books you keep in a secret stash in your room. A lady can’t only study all day, right?

(You make a mental note to come back to town and pick up a copy later.)

Down the row you go, reluctantly finishing off the pancake on the way. Yoongi hands you the entire second plate of jeon not long after. “I don’t want it,” he says, watching you brighten at the prospect of more food. He does end up stealing a piece of shrimp from within your grasp later, throwing it casually into his mouth before you can even react.

The next display to really catch your attention is one laden with delicately handcrafted ornaments, pins, bracelets, and perfumes. “Wow!” You gush, leaning over the table as you try to calculate how much money you brought with you because you want it all, even though you rarely have the occasion to dress up. Still, you want at least something as a keepsake, to hold your memories of this precious day. Yoongi stops and waits for you; you forget it should be the other way around.

“Oh my, Eun-a-ssi? Is that you?”

What? You look up, breath hitched.

“Oh, my apologies.” The woman behind the booth is elderly, her hair grey, eyes wrinkling warmly as she smiles. “My mistake. My eyesight isn’t what it was. You… look a lot like a woman I know. I haven’t seen her in a long time now.”

“Eun-a… Eun-a was my mother,” you murmur. “She passed away last year.”

The woman’s eyes widen as she clutches her hands to her chest. “She did? Oh… Oh no… I’m so sorry, child. Then you must be—” She thinks for a moment, then says your name. You nod, and a small smile slips back on her lips, though now tinged with sadness. You know the feeling. “My name is Hong Sook-ja. I used to live right here in town with Eun-a-ssi, until all those years ago when she moved into the palace and I moved to the countryside. Your mother used to bring you into town for Chuseok and we got to know each other then. These days, I just come back every once in a while to see my granddaughter and great-grandson, so I must have missed the news.”

“It’s alright, Sook-ja-ssi. Mom lived well,” you say, ignoring the twinge in your chest. Any glimpse into mother’s life before she had you fills you with a certain homesickness, alongside the joy. “She was happy. And I’m sure she’d be happy to know that you are living well too.”

“Good. Good. She deserved happiness.” Sook-ja sighs, letting the information sink in. Only after one last kind smile does she finally seem to notice Yoongi standing beside you, trying his best not to intrude. “Now, is this handsome lord your companion? Perhaps your betrothed?”

“N-No!” You immediately cry, not wanting Yoongi to misunderstand, to think that his rank could be dragged so low as to match yours. Sook-ja should know that these class lines, even between yangban and cheonmin, are not so easily crossed. But the mischief in her gaze seems to suggest she doesn’t care much about that. “No, we’re just out. Together.”

“Yes. Out. Together,” Yoongi echoes, just as the door behind Sook-ja starts to open with a noisy creak.

A young woman dressed in a pretty hanbok steps out of the house with a smile. “Grandma, are you interrogating the customers again… Oh, hey! Kim-nim!”

All three of you turn your heads to look at Eunuch Kim, who couldn’t look more surprised at the woman’s appearance if Yoongi started growing a tail. He flusters, stepping back as if that could protect him. “Ahh, Chun-ja-ssi…! You’re, um, here! And you look, wow—” He almost drops the last piece of jeon altogether. “I was not expecting you to be here— I mean, not that I was thinking of you being elsewhere— Uh, not that I think about you that often—”

“This is my granddaughter,” Sook-ja explains, saving the poor man. “Chun-ja. She and her son, Han-jae, are the best parts of my life. She’s so clever, she can even read and write, you know!”

Chun-ja flushes under the praise. “My grandmother likes to exaggerate. But it’s very nice to meet you both,” she says, bowing in greeting as Sook-ja excuses herself, exiting through the same door.

Yoongi is once again smirking. “So, how do you know Kim-nim?”

“Mm, it was about two years ago? I was helping one of the merchants bring grain into the palace. Kim-nim saw me struggling with a particularly heavy pot, and so he helped me carry it. Since then, we chat for a bit every time he’s in town on an errand, and exchange the occasional letter! When he remembers to write me back, that is. Though his letters are often so lovely that I don’t mind the wait.” Chun-ja offers Eunuch Kim a grin that he can’t quite return with ease.

Yoongi has to work hard to keep his face relatively straight as he says, “hmm. So that is why he’s always disappearing from the palace with those weak excuses? And using all that ink? He always said it was for something important.”

“Seja— My lord! Please!” Spare me, Eunuch Kim’s wilted expression pleads. You have to hide your amusement behind a hand, lest you burst out with inappropriate laughter.

Once again, Sook-ja comes to the rescue as she shuffles out of the house, holding two familiar objects that make your eyes light up. “You’re both in luck. I knew we had a few extra this year, even after that rascal great-grandson of mine ruined a few with his roughhousing. He’d still be causing trouble if he weren’t off with his friends right now.” Sook-ja sighs. “I wish my grandson were still around to scold him. But anyway, I’d be happy if you’d take them!”

“Wish lanterns!” You exclaim, taking the lightly orange cloth contraption with glee. “Oh, I haven’t seen these up close in years.” The palace celebrations don’t usually include them, leaving you to try and catch the sight of the tiny, almost imperceptible lights floating into the sky from so far away. You’ve always loved the thought of the lamps surging towards that boundless sky, endlessly drifting, free to follow the wind.

“Do you know how to start it?” Chun-ja asks. You shake your head. “Let me show you.”

As Chun-ja explains the mechanisms behind the lantern to you, Yoongi reaches for his coin pouch. “We must give you something in exchange.” Yoongi produces several mun coins that are at least five times the lanterns’ actual worth, and tries to give them to her.

Sook-ja pushes his hand away. “No, no, it’s a present!”

“I insist.” Yoongi tries again, only to be rejected, again. He wonders if she would be so obstinate if she knew who he really was. (Probably yes.) “Alright… What if I take another item from the table to make it a fair trade?”

“Stubborn, aren’t you?” Sook-ja bursts into laughter, her belly shaking beneath her skirt. “Fine. Take your pick!”

Yoongi barely scans the accessories; he snatches up the bracelet you were looking at before and tucks it into his jeogori with a secret smile. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Sook-ja says warmly, before her smile dips down conspiratorially. “It’ll look good on her. Anyway, have fun! Enjoy the night.”

“I’m sure we will.” Yoongi shifts his attention to you. “All done? Then let’s keep going.”

“Yes, my lord,” you say, happily clutching the lanterns. “Thank you so much, Sook-ja-ssi. Chun-ja-ssi.”

Chun-ja beams. “Our pleasure. I hope we see each other in town again soon. And Kim-nim, don’t forget your letters!”

“Yes, of course, I will. I mean, I won’t. Forget, that is. Uh, I’ll write. G-Goodbye.” Eunuch Kim bows twice in quick succession before hurrying after you two, trying his best not to look back for one last glimpse of what he’s left behind.

You continue your wandering through the rest of the festival, marveling at the sheer strength of the wrestlers and then the elegance of the dancers. Absently, you wish this atmosphere could stay in place forever, and that everything else could just vanish into the smoke and ash of the burning campfires, but you know too well that life is a balance. And right now, with the prince’s silky sleeve pressed almost right against yours as you walk past a chorus of singers, the scales have temporarily tipped in your favor.

Eventually, all your wandering takes you to almost the outskirts of town, to an area you visited before with your mother. It takes some squinting but you eventually recognize the obscure path among the bushes, and immediately gesture towards it. The prince has shown you so much tonight; you want to return the favor, especially since his steps are beginning to slow. “This way! Please come with me.”

“Are you sure this is safe?” Eunuch Kim calls. “We cannot let anything happen to our lord!”

You start down the road. “Completely!”

It’s been so long since you last took these steps, but it all comes back to you effortlessly as you take the lead. It takes a few minutes, just a few, to reach the clearing you seek. And it is exactly as you remember it — the nature growing with a wild, greedy virility, the oddly shaped rocks studded in the dirt, and the reflecting pond, its water rippling from the drag of the autumn wind across its surface. There is no one here, which is exactly how you expected it to be.

“Here it is, seja-jeonha.”

“It’s quiet,” he marvels, and steps further in. He stops at the edge of the pond, staring not down but out, at the reflection of the full moon in its depths.

“I thought that you could use a change of environment. You look a little tired.” At this point, you know him well enough to tell that the neutrality of his expression shows subtle signs of weariness.

“The noise. It can be overwhelming at times. I’m not used to so much of it, usually. But I like the songs.”

You nod. “I understand perfectly! That’s why mom took me here in the first place. It used to be her secret spot when she was growing up.”

His arms shift, sleeves brushing the sides of his jacket. “She was a kind woman.”

“Very much so.”

You feel the breeze swiftly pick up, weaving through the strands of hair that have come loose from your up-do. The curling leaves around you rustle with welcome relief, bathing in the atmosphere, the rare tranquility of such a beautiful evening.

“Shall we float the lanterns?” You suggest after a spell.

“Sure.” Yoongi indicates for Eunuch Kim to bring the lanterns over. “Matches?”

Eunuch Kim fumbles in his robes for a few seconds before he realizes with a start that they’re just not there. “My apologies!” He bows. “I must have left the matches back at the booth!”

Yoongi sighs. “Too distracted by Chun-ja-ssi, hm?” Eunuch Kim flushes. “Go get them then.”

“But to leave you alone—”

“I’m not alone.”

Eunuch Kim looks between the prince and you a few times in rapid succession, his thoughts evidently as wavering as his eyes. He finally lands back on the prince.

“…Understood. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

You both watch him go, the quick pace of his steps no doubt brought on by anticipation.

“I can’t believe he’s been involved with a woman without any of us knowing,” Yoongi says, his tone betraying his real fondness.

“It’s sweet.” You smile, wondering if Eunuch Kim will ever manage to stop the stuttering long enough to actually tell Chun-ja how much he appears to like her. He is a mature man with most aspects, but apparently you’ve happened upon his one sole weakness. “But… He’ll probably be gone for a while. We won’t be able to light the lanterns.”

“I thought as much when I told him to go.”

“Well, it’s nice to take a break.” You don’t mention that you’d probably go anywhere and do anything, even if it’s just sitting around waiting, if it was with him. Instead, you look down at the pond, the water stilling enough for there to be a slightly blurry reflection of yourself awaiting below. “Hm. The water’s gotten a bit murkier these years. It used to be clear enough to see perfectly in. But it’s not so bad! Come look!”

Yoongi does. His pale face, all dark eyes and that rough, obvious scar, appears beside yours.

You fully intended on saying something else but that thought falls clear out of your mind when you realize just how undone your hair has become in all the bustle of the celebrations. I look like a mess, you think in a panic, hurriedly feeling for the strands to tuck them back. You’ve only managed to get one side fixed when a rock comes flying out of nowhere, plunging into the water with a noisy thunk! It disturbs both your reflections and wrecks the temporary mirror as cold droplets splash back.

“Hey!” You cry, leaping back from the pond to Yoongi’s grin. “What was that for?”

He has the audacity to look innocent. “Nothing. Haven’t you ever skipped rocks?”

“That was more a throw than a skip,” you grumble, checking your skirt as you hope it didn’t take too much damage. Thankfully, only a few drops actually landed on the precious fabric. “But yes, I love skipping rocks. Properly.”

“Here then.” You open your palm at Yoongi’s behest and he drops a stone into it. “Show me how to do it properly.”

You accept the challenge and plant one foot behind you, staring down a point in the middle of the pond, angling your arm as you position the stone in your hand. You most definitely look the part of an expert as you let the thing go. It shoots towards the water at a rapid speed, whooshing right through the air like a tiny bullet as it hits the surface at the angle and then proceeds to instantly sink to the bottom like, well, a rock.

Yoongi’s raucous laugh is no less than a roar, his entire body wracked with the exertion as he practically doubles over. He only gets louder when he sees the embarrassment on your face, the absolute mortification.

“I never said I was good at it…” You mutter, deciding to try a second time. This rock plummets right down to the watery floor too, refusing to save you even a little bit of face.

Yoongi’s settled into an infuriatingly smug look. “So, you can’t actually skip a stone. But you still love doing it?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?” He effortlessly makes a single skip before his pebble capsizes.

“I have a theory.” His curiosity piques at that; a turn of his head. “That it’s not up to us if the rock skips or not. Even if we have all the technique in the world,” you pick up another stone, “if the wind just happens to blow a bit harder, or if a fish from beneath disturbs the rhythm, or even if the tides themselves decide to surge up… It’ll fail. Or only skip the once. But—” You clutch the rock tightly in your hand and feel the weight, the cold, steady shape. “But if we wish hard enough. If we just keep trying every time we have the opportunity again and again…” This time, your rock is truly flying as it smacks the rippling water and skips a miraculous four times before finally dropping into the deep. “The universe might just make it happen.”

“…Or you need more practice.”

You shrug. “I’d rather believe that there are some things in the world simply out of our control. But that we can still hope for those things to shift, to change for the better if we never give up.”

Yoongi falls silent, staring at the ground through his downcast, delicate eyelashes. Maybe you said too much, you think. You didn’t mean to ramble. It’s just something you’ve thought about often. For these past months, it’s been the only thing keeping you going on the hardest, loneliest days. But you’ve made it. You’re still here. And by some miracle, he’s right here with you.

(You think maybe this is happiness.)

“I like that.” His eyes flick up to meet yours with an intensity that says he’s listening. He’s contemplating your thoughts and taking you seriously. He rubs the back of his neck, scratching at an invisible mark. “It’s a good theory. I… I understand it.”

There’s a weight to those words that you feel in the pit of your heart. A pull that draws you to him like the reckless tides towards his moon – a gravitational longing to know what truth vibrates beneath. You wonder if he feels it too.

“Seja-jeonha, I’ve returned!”

Eunuch Kim comes rushing back into the clearing, wielding the packet of matches. You both turn to him, letting the moment be whisked away with the wind whipping past the emerald robes, though you keep it safe in your memories. The eunuch has brought ink and brushes too, for you to write your wishes on the fabric itself. Increases the chance of their coming true, or so the legend goes.

After a few swishes of the brush, it doesn’t take long to light the fires. Your darkly inked characters are lit up by the flame, flickering staunchly beneath the opening as you each clutch a lantern in your hands and look at each other.

“What are you wishing for?” Yoongi asks.

“For more jeon,” is your reply, followed by an easy laugh that he echoes.

Then you let the lantern go as he does — two firebirds soaring side by side into the twinkling night.

a/n: *cue Can You Feel the Love Tonight playing softly in the background even though it hasn’t been invented yet*. hope you’re all enjoying sweet Yoon 🥺

#ficswithluv #bts fluff #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #min yoongi #historical au #rain writes #moonlit throne #... this is still a drabble series i swear haha #can you spot the members? 🤭

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thespianbooks · 4 years ago

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A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 21//

Masterlist

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia) *bold tags don’t work ;-;

Sorry this is later than usual folks! Busy schedule, but I’m determined to still post on Monday’s regardless!

XXX

I couldn't have been more elated than I was when Madja officially lifted my period of confinement and bedrest. Another couple of weeks flew by since receiving the news of Eris becoming the new High Lord of Autumn, and things were moving fast. After initially sending out invitations to our allies; directing them on where to send their armies and encouraging them and their entourages to come and stay in Velaris, the last thing I wanted was to be restricted to switching from my place in bed or ambling around the estate with little else to do while Rhys, Mor, and Clotho worked seamlessly to create adequate accommodations for our guests. Though we didn't have a palace like Thesan's to host them as he did for our summits, we had more than enough space for them with the guest suites I drew into the blueprints for the estate. However, neither Rhys nor Clotho allowed me to do anything while still in recovery—even when the first of the High Lords and their entourages began to arrive.

Helion was the first, with Thesan following only a couple of days later. With them being the closest to our court, they wasted no time in gathering their numbers and were in Velaris within days following their armies. They both marveled at how far along I was now, and especially at the impressively large mound my belly had grown to. Helion had cracked a joke about my size, which earned a protective growl from my mate and an earnest laugh from me. Thesan had been rather stunned and actually worried that I might go into labor at any given second; so, whenever we were in the same room, he watched me with wary eyes—afraid that any sudden movement might bring about the labor pains. He had reacted the same way with Viviane when she attended our last summit; using whatever resources he had at his disposal, like having every available midwife in the palace, in order to make sure she was comfortable and in case of emergency.

As our plans continued to move forward, I slowly and surely regained my strength with faithful reassurance from our healer that my health was flourishing. Finally, after an agonizing two weeks—where I grew more and more antsy and eager to jump into some kind of work, Madja announced that I was fully recovered and that I had officially entered the final stage of my pregnancy. With approximately two and a half months left, ending this coup was our crucial next step in preparing for our son. The last thing Rhys and I wanted was to welcome him into the world while simultaneously trying to quell the civil unrest in our court. With the threat having loomed over us since the beginning of my pregnancy and causing my mate and I great periods of stress and nearly cost us our son's life, ending Keir's act of tyranny would grant us the peace that was long ago stolen from us. Now that the end was in sight, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief—knowing that our chances of a favorable outcome was just within our reach, and then we could shift our focus back onto welcoming our baby.

Madja's announcement had come just in time as well. Kallias and Viviane were due to finally arrive this afternoon, along with their newborn Eira. With Helion and Thesan well-adjusted and working closely with Rhys, Tarquin also having arrived just a few days ago, Kallias and Viviane were the last of our allies we would host—Tamlin and Eris remaining at their prospective courts for now but sending their contingencies of armies ahead of them. The Winter couple had wisely decided to wait the longest in order to allow the bond between them and Eira to calm. In her letters following Eira's birth, Viviane explained that while she was recovering from the ordeal, Kallias's mated instincts caused him to shelter her and Eira for nearly a month. They were also adjusting to their newborn daughter, and as mates, both of their instincts sent them into a frenzy—their innate urges compelling them to shelter their child. The first three months had been critical, Viviane explained, not only for her and Eira's recovery from the birthing process, but also in learning how to parent their daughter while their natural tendencies ruled them. Over those last three months, their compulsions slowly ebbed back into a sense of normalcy and they were able to integrate themselves back into civilization.

Rhys and I understood that level of vulnerability in a mated bond, having experienced it ourselves during my own convalescence. It only made us all the more grateful that they chose to side with us to end our dilemma, and it also provided a safe haven for Viviane and Eira. Viviane was nowhere near ready to fight three months postpartum, and since she and Kallias still couldn't be parted with each other for long, she and her baby would remain safe with me while Kallias and Rhys worked together with the other High Lords when the time for the confrontation finally came.

"Mind already abuzz this morning, Feyre darling?" Rhys purred in my ear; the arm thrown over my waist moving to pull me closer while we lay in bed.

I smiled, letting him bring me closer until my back was flush against the hard planes of his chest. I lazily checked to make sure my mental shields were intact, having just recently been able to keep them in place once again, while his lips drew a lazy line of kisses from my ear to the crook of my neck.

"How did you know?" I asked softly, turning my head into his.

"I don't need to read your mind in order to tell when you're excited, my love," he hummed.

My smile grew with a quiet laugh that quickly turned into a soft gasp as he rolled his hips into mine. I breathed his name, ready to reluctantly protest until he reminded me that with my lying-in suspended, we were clear to resume our bedroom activities—as promised between a private conversation with him and the healer. Another roll of his hips had me nodding eagerly at his silent request. Our joining was slow and gentle—Rhys taking me from behind at a leisurely pace. We took our time enjoying ourselves, delighting in being unhurried and reaching our peaks at staggered intervals.

"Now we can both greet the day with a better sense of ease." Rhys said as he nipped at my earlobe afterwards, his voice still deep and husky.

I laughed and turned onto my back to face him, resting a hand on my belly as I released a deep and relaxed sigh. "We're really going to be okay, aren't we?" I asked.

He placed a hand next to mine, running it up and down the expanse of my stomach gently. "Are you having doubts?"

I paused in thought. "I've just...been afraid. I know the situation isn't as dire as it was with Hybern, but the stakes still feel so much higher this time…"

"That's understandable," he said as he looked at my stomach. "This time you're pregnant, and we do have more to lose."

I frowned, tears swelling and threatening to fall before Rhys pressed a reassuring kiss to my brow. "But we are going to be okay, Feyre. I have promised you from the beginning that we would make it through this ordeal together, and we have. We're so close, and Keir will be dealt with. Then in a matter of months we'll be holding our son in our arms knowing his world is safer," he promised.

I blinked away my tears, Rhys brushing his thumb along my cheek gently. "I love you," I whispered.

He smiled and pressed a kiss to my lips this time. "I love you, Feyre," he said and moved to kiss the top of my stomach gently. "And I love you too, my son."

I loosed another long breath, allowing it to calm the last of my nerves as Rhys moved back to his place at my side. "Are you feeling well enough to have breakfast with the others?" He asked.

I nodded. "Should I scare Thesan by faking a few early labor pains?"

He threw his head back with a loud laugh. "You might just scare everyone, my love, including our friends who also heed your condition at all times," he answered.

I giggled and sighed dramatically. "That would be a little mean, wouldn't it?"

"Positively cruel, Feyre darling."

"All right, but I still want to find some way to torture Thesan, just a little bit."

Rhys laughed again before climbing out of bed, pulling me along with him as we began our routine in preparing for the day.

XXX

Eira was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen.

She was technically the only baby, human or high fae, that I had ever seen; yet I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Viviane and Kallias arrived promptly after lunch; Kallias having safely winnowed the three of them to the main port in Velaris, where Rhys and I happily greeted them. A sleeping Eira was wrapped up in swaddling blankets, tucked into her mother's arms and I noticed this time it was Viviane who looked wary of her surroundings rather than her mate. At the summit, Kallias had been the one on high alert—his feral intuition heightened as a natural reaction to protect his vulnerable mate. Now it seemed their roles were reversed.

While Viviane was more than glad to see me, and even delighted in how much my belly had grown over the months, she kept Eira close to her chest the entire time it took us to walk back to the estate. Even now, as the four of us were gathered in the largest guest suite we had, Viviane was perched on the settee, cradling the baby close as she nursed—Kallias and Rhys in the adjoining sitting room to allow them privacy.

"She's so tiny," I breathed, marveling as I watched the small bundle in her arms.

Viviane brightened. "She's actually a lot bigger than when she was first born," she said, touching her youngling's pale rounded cheek.

I stared as Eira let out a small groan in response to her mother's touch, continuing to suckle quietly. Her hair, as white as her parents, was a smooth and thin coating on her perfectly round head; her eyes as icy blue as Kallias's, while the rest of her features resembled Viviane exactly. She reminded me of the female's sister, who I had only seen a handful of times since the war. After recalling a conversation where the two mentioned their looks came from their family's strong lineage, it came as no surprise to see that Eira was a carbon copy of her mother.

"Does that hurt?" I asked.

"Nursing?" She shook her head when I nodded, "Not really. It took some time to adjust at first, but it's not exactly painful."

I brushed an idle hand along the expanse of my belly. "There's so much I don't know yet," I sighed.

She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry Feyre, I had no idea what I was doing either. Right before the summit, I received a long lecture from my team of midwives on what to expect and how to care for her properly. I'm sure your healer is preparing to give you the same lesson."

I cringed. "She did say that starting at my next appointment she would be bringing along the midwife, her sister, now that I'm in the final weeks."

"Then you still have plenty of time to learn," she said. "How are you feeling?"

I sighed again as I rested against the settee. "Still tired. I'm hungry almost every hour of the day, and my back is unbelievably sore by the end of the night."

She smiled empathetically. "Are you feeling more movements from him?"

I nodded. "All the time. He's very...energetic these days, especially when Rhys is in the room, which is often. He loves to kick and stretch," I rubbed a spot on my belly for emphasis. "He used to take naps, I think, but in the last week I'm pretty sure he's decided that he won't sleep again until he's born."

Her answering laugh was melodic, Eira's stunning blue eyes fluttering open in response to the sound. "He probably won't sleep then either. Kallias and I are lucky if we get a couple of hours now; it's gotten better in the last month, but at first it's rough adapting to her schedule."

I gulped as I stared at my stomach, wondering if Rhys and I would be tormented by lack of sleep. "I don't mean to scare you," Viviane giggled. "It just takes some time to become accustomed to a youngling that's all. Once you actually see him, hold him, and nurse him...your world will revolve around him." She explained, pulling Eira away from her breast and adjusting her top expertly before scooping the youngling back up into her arms as she patted her back gently.

I laughed as that patting elicited the tiniest burp I had ever heard. "I'm assuming that's part of the nursing process?"

Viviane nodded, "Oh yes. These little ones tend to get gassy, so we help them along."

I paused for a moment as I watched her kiss Eira's cheek, cradling her close, and I imagined how in only a matter of months I would be doing the same with my son.

"Since you're here...I know you said as much in your letters...but how bad is it really? Labor?" I asked timidly.

She smiled sheepishly before contemplating how to answer me. I knew the last thing she wanted to do was instill fear in me, but I also knew she would be honest.

"I'll tell you what my midwives told me: every female's experience is different. Just as our pregnancies might differ, so will our labor's. For me, while my cycles are less than pleasant and always excruciating, I managed to find a way to alleviate the pains over the centuries. Because of that, I thought my labor would be...manageable. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It was...the hardest thing I had to endure. The pain left me...disconnected, in some way," she paused as the memories came back to her. "But Kallias was there the whole time. He kept me grounded and helped me through it all to the very end. I don't know what I would've done without him,"

She reached over to grip my hand gently. "But Feyre, you shouldn't be scared. Your mate, your Rhysand, will be there with you every step of the way too. I've seen the bond between you two, the love you share, and I have no doubt that he'll guide you through it all no matter how smooth or brutal the process might be. Who knows, maybe with his daemati abilities he could…"

I shook my head. "I don't want him to numb me. I...I want to be able to go through it as every female has for centuries. His mother endured it twice, and I figure if she could do it, if you could, then so can I."

"Of course, Feyre, if that's what you want. You do whatever is right for you," she affirmed. "In all honesty though, with Rhysand at your side you have nothing to worry about, and at the end of it all you'll welcome your son into a safe home."

I squeezed her hand, "I hope so," I admitted. I didn't have to reiterate how unsettled the coup, the very reason why she and our other allies were gathered in Velaris, left me.

She, as a new mother herself, understood perfectly. "You will," she promised. "And then you'll get to hold your beautiful boy. Have you wondered what he might look like yet?"

The image of the Bone Carver came to mind. Of those violet-blue eyes that nearly resembled mine, while all his other features were completely and utterly Rhysand.

"He'll look like Rhysand, I just know it." I said as I caressed my stomach lovingly, earning a glimmer and kick in response.

Viviane warmed as she looked at Eira, who now peacefully slept in her arms. "I was so glad when I saw that she had Kallias's eyes. I had a feeling that with my lineage she would look like me, but I still hoped she might look at least a little like Kallias. She has his spirit too, at least so far," she smiled as she smoothed the hair on the younglings head. "And Kallias, he dotes on her so much already. She hardly cries; all she has to do is wrinkle her little brow and he scoops her up."

"They say you can't spoil them at this age, but I'm sure he will as the years go on," she said.

"As I should," came her mate's voice as he walked in the room with Rhysand at his side.

My mate winked at me as he entered the room, crossing over to my side at the same time as Kallias came to Viviane's.

"I doubt our friends in the Night Court will be any different, especially with their brood." Kallias said with a smirk at me, before checking on his sleeping daughter. I noticed his fingers twitch, as if he might pick her up, but Viviane's hold was unrelenting.

"Viviane's maternal instincts are very...formidable." Kallias suddenly said, realizing my mate and I must have noticed that he hadn't held his daughter at all since their arrival. "The midwives warned us that it relates to our primitive ways; that females tend to be overprotective of their younglings for the first few months."

I blinked, and Viviane smiled sheepishly. "Back at home I don't have a hard time letting him hold and change her, but I think it's because of the change in environment now that I'm struggling."

Rhys and I exchanged an astonished look and I shrugged. "Well at least you know I won't be purposefully refusing to let you hold our son," I offered.

He smirked. "Poor Mor will be doubly disappointed, as will everyone else."

"It'll only really be intense the first week, for both of you actually," Viviane said. "The mating bond will make you both sensitive to outside influence, similar to when the bond first clicked into place."

Kallias shifted uncomfortably at the mention of something so intimate, but Rhys nodded in understanding. "We'll be in the Cabin for the duration of Feyre's recovery, so that should help."

I nodded. "The Cabin is also where you, my sisters, and I will be going...when that time comes."

"Are there any updates on that end?" Kallias asked, and I wondered what he and Rhys had been discussing in the other room if not about the business of ending the coup. "What did Eris's last report say?"

"He's managed to keep Keir at bay, hashing out details and negotiations for their supposed alliance and dragging them out for as long as he's needed to replenish the armies affected by their fighting," Rhys began. "According to his latest report, we should be expecting his soldiers any day now, along with Tamlin's."

"And then?" Viviane asked, holding Eira impossibly closer.

"Then we will lift the wards on our numbers, and have them march on the Ironcrest camp," Rhys started.

"Where that coward, Kallon, will inform Keir, and summon him here?" Kallias finished.

Rhys nodded. "Then we put an end to this for good."

I shivered at the darkness that laced in the promise of his words, and he quickly placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"What will you do with them?" Viviane quietly asked.

"Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel will deal with the Illyrians. As for Keir, we'll be handing him over to Mor. She's free to do as she wishes with him" I answered. Viviane nodded in approval, knowing the history and relationship our friend had with both her parents.

"Are you sure we can trust all of this in Eris's hands?" Kallias asked, his demeanor having shifted to a harder one.

"Azriel is keeping a close watch with his network of spies," I answered for Rhys.

"Not to mention with his court being in such shambles, entering another war against all of us, would be an extremely foolish move on his end," my mate added.

I scoffed. "Plus, he's probably enjoying his new position too much to risk losing it."

Our friends shared a wary glance, their eyes conveying their own silent exchange. "We trust you," Viviane finally said, adjusting Eira in her arms.

Rhys dipped his head in acknowledgement before turning to Kallias. "We'll ensure Viviane and Eira are safe with Feyre and her sisters in the cabin. Since the attack on Velaris we've set up stronger wards on all our properties."

Kallias's tense shoulders seemed to relax a bit at Rhys's reassurance for his daughter and Viviane's safety.

"I guess this time around you two will have to do without us." Viviane joked half-heartedly, though I could tell she harbored the same desire I had to do more for this fight.

You are doing plenty, my love, I promise you, Rhys said through the bond.

By that you mean carrying Sebastian? I mused back.

That is the most important thing right now, and more than I could have ever asked for.

I smiled at him, squeezing the hand on my shoulder, but we both looked up as a knock came from the sitting room. I saw Viviane flinch, bringing Eira close again.

"It's just Mor," Rhys reassured before waving a hand, opening the door for her.

Viviane smiled sheepishly at me as Mor entered the room. The blonde brightened when she saw her friend, but wisely didn't rush over to embrace her after noticing how protectively she held her child.

"Sorry to interrupt, I know you wanted to wait to greet the rest of us at dinner," Mor said empathetically to Viviane and Kallias. "But Azriel's spies returned from the Autumn Court with a report from Eris," she said to Rhysand and I.

"What did it say?" I asked, my heart beating faster.

"He's finalized his 'plans' with Keir, and his soldiers just arrived at Windhaven," she replied, her dark eyes hardening.

"What about the troops Spring promised?" Rhys asked, voice equally serious-his dark shadows beginning to stir.

I noticed the room growing colder as Kallias's own powers stirred at the news. "Cassian reported they're set to arrive at dawn," Mor said.

"So, it's time then, to lift the wards?" I asked—my words coming out more tense than I meant.

Rhys nodded stiffly. "As soon as the Spring soldiers arrive, we'll lift the wards. Keir and Kallon will surely meet us once we arrive at the Ironcrest camp."

"How long will that take, approximately?" Kallias asked, moving closer to his wife and mate-who rested her cheek atop Eira's head, still swaddled and sleeping in her arms.

"A day or two, at the most," Rhys answered.

We all exchanged the same strained, knowing, look and I wondered if they could hear the pounding of my heart as it settled over me that the time for this ill-fated encounter was at last about to reach its conclusion.

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emmapills · 4 years ago

Text

Comfort and Warmth

Mulder finds comfort in Scully’s breasts.

Based off of this tweet

Thank you SO much to @msrafterdark for letting me use this wonderful photo for this fic! Her art is amazing and you should check it out!

Meg's Tumblrs: msrafterdark, megdoesart, msr polaroid project

Meg's AO3

Meg's twitter

Thank you so much to @gaycrouton for being able to beta on such short notice! You are amazing!!!

AO3 link

tagging @today-in-fic

There were many things for which Fox Mulder had given up hope. Ever since Samantha was taken, his world became hard and cold. The unconditional love he’d heard all parents were supposed to possess had morphed into resentment within his own, and so he hopped on a plane to England and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in psychology. If he was being honest with himself, he chose the field because of his want… no, need for the truth.

He was able to use his degree and become a highly sought after profiler for the FBI. However, what he really wanted was answers. Who took Sam? And why? Who would do these things? Were there more? What was their motivation? When he stumbled across the X-Files, it felt like Christmas day and winning the lottery combined. Finally, finally, he could start his search.

What he didn’t expect was to fall in love with the very agent who barely two years after his official beginning of searching for the truth was sent to be a spy, an enemy (or so he thought). To his surprise, she never looked down on his theories, even if she thought he was losing his marbles. Of course, they had misunderstandings, but they treated each other with respect and professionalism. Unfortunately for her, what started as just an assignment to debunk his work turned personal, and she would have just as much at stake as he did. Her pent-up frustrations with all that had been done to her by government men soon manifested until she couldn’t take it anymore. Her tryst with Jerse left Mulder with a sense of jealousy, but also a sense of bewilderment. He couldn’t believe it. Not only was he falling in love with her, she chose not to take her anger out on him when she had every right to. While he wished she hadn’t used sex as her outlet, he couldn’t blame her. After everything, she never did anything to lessen her devotion to their work.

Dana Katherine Scully stole his heart, but she never once stole his trust.

“Mulder?”

His thoughts were interrupted by movement and he felt Scully’s silky smooth hair under his chin.

“Hey, Scully.”

“I can feel you thinking.” Nothing ever got past her.

“Nothing… everything,” he answered.

“Hmm, I think you need to go to sleep,” she said as she moved her head to kiss just under his bottom lip.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Well, we already tried one option,” he stated with a grin.

She gently swatted at his chest and giggled.

They had been taking turns spending the night at the other’s apartment, and most nights at his place turned into passionate nights of lovemaking. Mulder very rarely received visitors, and the chance for interruption was slim to none. While she had argued the same, he had brought up the one and only time her mother had entered her apartment unannounced and walked into her bedroom right as Scully tilted her head back in ecstasy, using her hands to balance herself as she orgasmed with Mulder right on her heel.

Maggie Scully never entered without knocking again.

“I don’t think I have it in me for another round,” she stated. “Although, I do have another idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, lately, I noticed your admiration of my breasts,” she paused and smiled, “and how you like to hold them.”

“Oh, um,” he scratched his head self-consciously.

“Hey,” she ran a hand through his hair, “don’t be ashamed. I get it,” she chuckled.

“It’s just…they feel comforting?” Real smooth, Mulder.

“I know,” Scully chuckled. “I don’t mind.”

“Really?”

“Mm hmm.” To prove her point, she shifted and rested her back against Mulder’s chest. She took his hand and brought it under her pajama shirt to cup her breast.

Mulder sighed and rested his cheek against Scully's, letting the movement of her breathing, the beating of her heart, and the comfort of her body lull him to sleep.

What started as a one-time thing became his only way to sleep peacefully. Sometimes it was over clothing, sometimes he got to hold the soft, creamy skin directly. Either way, he was grateful. Scully was an angel, always letting him hold her in whatever way he pleased, which was usually like that first night, holding her breasts from behind. When Mulder went missing, she mentioned how different it felt without the feeling of his large hands comforting her as she held their baby, whispering sweet nothings about their daddy. Their first night together after he came back from the dead, he cradled their child inside her with one hand and held a breast with the other - the two most important people in the world resting in his embrace. While he went away for their safety, his nights were fitful, longing for her touch and she his. When they were reunited and on the run, he cried with her when he felt the release of her milk through her nursing bra, her having adopted out their son less than a week before. She had told him it may take several days until she dried up and so until then, he held them to relieve some of the pressure. Apologies were made as well as love, Mulder telling her over and over how strong she was and her doubting every word.

At the Unremarkable House, the had settled into a sense of normalcy as she was able to let go of her fugitive status and become a doctor for children. As always, he held her breasts as they slept, sometimes with her hands atop his. When the FBI asked for his help, he was eager to jump back in and help, but soon they drifted. He still held her.

While they were apart, his nights were very much like the first time, although this time was his fault. Scully had mentioned how he had started to hold her rougher than she liked, and while he tried, he couldn’t help but feel angry over the events of the year the world was supposed to end. She, rightfully so, couldn’t take anymore, and she packed her bags two years later with a promise of her love for him.

Their first intimate night together after four years apart was a new awakening. Mulder realized how much of his life was wasted without her and never wanted to give it up again. However, he wanted to respect her boundaries, so he didn’t hold her breasts in comfort like he had done so many times before, and consequently couldn’t sleep.

When Scully announced her geriatric pregnancy after thinking William was gone, there were feelings of confusion, elatement, love, and sorrow. That night was spent at the Unremarkable House and while Mulder held her, she had a vision. William was alive. They professed their love for each other and their children. During her pregnancy with their second miracle child, Scully had moved back into their home. One night while she couldn’t sleep, she moved his hands on her breast, telling him it was okay. They were okay.

After Lily was born, Mulder expressed mild annoyance at not being able to be comforted by her breasts like he was recently reaccustomed to due to the fact Lily was breastfeeding. Scully smiled and said, “just a little while longer.”

After Scully nursed their child for the last time, they cried like they did almost everything: together. For the life they could’ve had, the life they did have, and the hope that one day their beloved son would feel safe enough to find them and meet his sister, able to feel the comfort and warmth of his biological parents who still loved him and never forgot about him.

He placed a hand on her left breast, feeling the dum dum, dum dum of her heartbeat. Physical, ever-present proof of her love for him and that she was alive. She was alive and they were together. For good this time.

Mulder held her breasts and she welcomed it, never wanting him to let go.

#the x files #xf fanfic #my fic #fox mulder #dana scully #msr fanfic #msr #x files fanfic #the x files fanfic

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leemotionalwreck · 4 years ago

Text

Of Black Chats and Fallen Angels (chapter 4)

Read it here on AO3!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | You are Here | Chapter 5

*********************************************

It was dusk when Nino’s arm wrapped around Alya as she excitedly gripped her phone. “Here!” She exclaimed. “This picture shows he’s at the Pont des Arts!”

“Again?” Marinette questioned.

Nino shrugged. “Guess it’s his favorite place.”

“You’d think he’d choose somewhere a little warmer,” she groaned.

Adrien snorted. “It’s only fall, Marinette.”

She shivered as she glared at him. “Doesn’t change the fact that it’s cold as hell out here.”

“Give her a break Adrien,” Lila interrupted. Her hand moved up and down his bicep. “Not all of us can wear a t-shirt and shorts in fifty-degree weather.”

Adrien frowned at the girl next to him, slowly moving his arm out of her grasp. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

Lila shrugged, a sly smile on her face. “I can switch sides when necessary.”

“I knew there was a reason I invited you,” Marinette grinned.

Alya was practically buzzing with excitement as the rest of the group talked amongst themselves. “Come on, Nino,” she groaned. “I swear, a damn turtle could beat you in a race.”

“Alright, alright,” Nino chuckled. He spun around to face the others behind him. “You guys better hurry. I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to be responsible for restricting Alya’s sweet tooth.” the couple ran ahead towards the bridge, hand in hand.

Marinette followed closely behind, with Adrien and Lila trailing slightly behind. Instead of running with the rest, Lila chose to stay latched onto Adrien’s arm the entire time, constantly giggling at his jokes and asking what flavors he thought Andre would give them.

*********

After walking another mile (Lila had made sure to keep track), the five teenagers had reached the bridge. Adrien marveled at the hundreds of padlocks that had been locked on the railing and grates. His heart squeezed at the thought of being able to have one to bring here with someone. Someday.

Naturally, Andre was elated to see that Nino and Alya were still together.

“Alya! Nino!” The man roared in his jolly accent. Andre was kind but loud and expressive. It always took newcomers several trips to get used to the gentle giant. “How glad I am to see the both of you!”

The two beamed in unison as they stood at the front of the line. “Hey, Andre.”

“And what will the lovely couple be having today?” The vendor clasped his hands together in excitement, an exciting assortment of flavors laid out in front of him. Adrien had always thought it was endearing how touched the man had been by love-- even though he never seemed to have anyone for himself.

“Same as always,” Alya smiled.

“Very well,” Andre scooped three different flavors onto a single cone. “Banana, coconut, and passion fruit-- for a paring tried and true.” There was a gleeful grin on his face as he handed the treat to the pair.

“Thank you, Andre!” They said, somehow always in sync.

“The pleasure is always mine,” the man chimed. He looked at the remaining three, an ever-present gleam in his eye. Casting a curious glance at Adrien and Lila, Andre smiled at Marinette. “My dear Marinette,” he pleaded. ”I do hope you’ll be willing to try a treat this time around.”

“Of course,” Marinette smiled, stepping closer to the cart. “I wouldn’t dare miss out on your ice cream.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Andre smiled. “Am I correct to assume you would like the same as last time?”

Marinette nodded in response.

Adrien was sure Lila had asked him a question-- he’d felt a tugging on his arm-- but was too busy trying to see what flavors Marinette had been given.

Andre scooped only two flavors this time around. “Peach pink like his lips, mint green like his eyes,” the vendor grinned as he handed Marinette her treat.

Tasting the ice cream, she hummed in delight despite the cold. “Y’know, it doesn’t even matter whether your ice cream works for me or not; the flavor is more than enough to keep me coming back. Thank you, Andre.”

Lila tugged on Adrien’s arm, calling his name once more.

“Come back any time, Marinette. Seeing your face is always a treat for me,” the soft look in Andre’s eyes proved his words were true. “And please,” he continued. “Tell your parents I say hello.”

“Of course,” she said, turning to walk towards the bench Alya and Nino had headed to a few minutes earlier.

Adrien watched as she looked at her ice cream thoughtfully before taking another bite. Who was she thinking about?

“Adrien!” he turned to see that Lila had been calling his name. Her face seemed to darken before brightening up once she had his attention. “It’s our turn.”

“Oh, yeah,” he muttered. “Sorry.” Keeping her arm linked through his, Lila tugged Adrien towards the cart.

“Ah, hello Adrien!” Andre beamed. “I am so glad to see your face. It’s been far too long.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Andre,” he said.

“And who is this lovely lady on your arm?”

Before Adrien could answer, Lila introduced herself. “My name is Lila Rossi. I’m new to Francoise Dupont,” a large smile was plastered on her face, framed by the thick strands of hair on either side of her face. “The other four were planning to come and find you today-- something about the best ice cream in Paris?”

Adrien wasn’t sure if Lila noticed how Andre’s smile faltered slightly before returning to normal. “I should hope so. Though I doubt anyone other than me has that special touch.”

“Well I hope you’re worth the walk,” Lila said.

Instead of continuing the banter, Andre turned his attention to Adrien. “So, what will the two of you be having today?”

“Oh,” Adrien started. “We’re not a-”

“Whatever you think is best,” Lila interjected. At Adrien’s’ confused expression, she explained. “What? Just cause we’re not dating doesn’t mean we can’t share a cone.”

“Whatever you say I guess.”

Andre thought for a moment before deciding. “Mint for you, Adrien, and coffee for the lovely lady.”

Lila made a face at the same time Adrien said, “Thank you, Andre.”

“Why of course. It was wonderful seeing you. And I hope to see more of you, Lila. Any friend of Alya, Nino, Marinette, or Adrien is a friend of mine.”

The pair waved goodbye as Andre packed up his equipment to head to a new spot before finally heading over to Nino, Alya, and Marinette.

“Are you sure there’s no one?” Alya said to a beet red Marinette. “Cause you looked pretty happy when Andre gave you those specific flavors.” The mischievous look on her face hinted that this conversation had been going on for a while at this point.

“I promise you there’s no one,” Marinette said cooly despite her blush. “I just enjoy ice cream. Is that really such a bad thing?”

“Gee, Marinette. Are they always this bad?” Lila asked.

Marinette nodded.

“Well then,” Lila laughed as she placed an arm around Marinette’s’ shoulder. “Looks like I’ll be on your side more often than usual.”

Marinette shot a smug look at Alya. “See that?” she said. “True friendship. You’d better take notes if you plan on keeping me.”

Alya scrunched her nose. “I think I’ll take my chances. What flavors did you guys get anyway?”

“Coffee for me, and mint for Adrien.”

Nino and Marinette both paused mid-bite. “Mint?”

“Y-yeah,” Adrien said, confused. “Why? What’s wrong with mint?”

“Dude…” Nino said at the same time Marinette grumbled, “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like you.”

Adrien genuinely frowned at Marinette before answering Nino, “Mint isn’t that bad.” He tasted the cone Andre had given him and Lila and grimaced. “Okay, you know what? Maybe it is.”

He handed the cone to Lila who just shrugged and continued eating it. “Well maybe he’s not as great as you guys made him out to be,” despite the skeptical glances she received from the rest, she continued with a smile. “I visited Jamaica a few months ago, they had some of the best ice creams I’ve ever tasted. I promise to bring you all someday.”

“Okay,” Nino shrugged as he walked over to the railing of the bridge.

Adrien noticed the annoyed look she gave him when he turned away.

While Alya, Lila, and Marinette talked and laughed amongst themselves Adrien walked over to Nino who had been staring out over the Seine as the setting sun glistened on the water.

“Hey dude,” Nino said. “Still surprised your old man let you come and hang.”

“Me too,” Adrien chuckled. “If I were you I wouldn’t expect anything else from him for a while. I’m booked for the rest of this week and, knowing him, most of next week too.”

“Damn. I’ll never understand how you deal with all that, man. It’s gotta be, like, child abuse or something.”

Adrien sighed. “I’ll get back to you when I figure that out myself”

They fell into a comfortable silence as Adrien thought back to the events from earlier-- how Andre had acted so strangely when he and Lila walked up to the cart. As far as he knew, he hadn’t insulted the vendor in any way, aside from maybe when Lila made a face at the pairing they received. A bad mood was ruled out as well seeing as he had been perfectly fine while Nino, Alya, and Marinette had ordered.

“Dude, you good?” Nino asked. “You look like you just chugged a gallon of cough medicine.”

Nino’s voice yanked Adrien out of his thoughts. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking,” he paused, trying to gather his ideas. “Did Andre seem-- off to you?”

“Andre?” Nino laughed. “The man whose sole purpose in life is to bring people together and liven the mood? I don’t know dude,” He squinted, the sunlight reflecting off of his glasses, nearly blinding Adrien. “Maybe all that hairspray is getting to you.” He jokingly held a hand up to Adrien’s forehead, who slapped it away good-naturedly.

“Whatever, dude,” Adrien laughed. “Just shut up so we can watch this sunset, yeah?”

Nino grinned as he bowed dramatically in front of him. “As you wish, my liege.” At this, Adrien rolled his eyes once again.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Adrien shouted over to the girls who had been huddled around Alya, laughing at giggling at something on her phone. “Come on girls, you can’t miss this.”

As the girls walked over from the bench to the railing, a smug Alya sauntered over to the two boys, her phone in hand behind her back.

“Soo, the three of us were just looking at old pictures in my camera roll,” Alya began, and Adrien noticed that Lila and Marinette couldn’t seem to stop giggling from behind her. “And we found something from a while ago that we thought the both of you might want to see.”

The two boys leaned against the railing and Adrien’s gaze flickered over to Nino, who shrugged.

“Uh, okay.” Adrien began. “And your point is?”

The Cheshire-like grin on Alya’s face told both of them that whatever was coming next wasn’t going to be enjoyable. “Well,” she drawled. “I found a picture of the two of you from freshman year.”

Nino’s ashen face wasn’t a good sign. “Alya,” his voice was low. “Tell me that isn’t--”

“Oh, it is.” Her expression resembled a predator that had nearly captured its’ prey. The snickers of Lila and Marinette grew louder by the second. “And I do hope the two of you have plans to recreate this magnificent image sometime soon.”

Alya’s hand finally appeared from behind her back, in it was her phone with an image from freshman year. On Halloween night two years ago, Nino and Adrien had decided to dress up as Mario and Luigi-- their reason that they were practically brothers, so it would hardly be any different. What they hadn’t counted on, however, was that both costumes would be two sizes too small (in all the wrong places), and the colors had faded severely. Which meant Luigi (Adrien) was a lime green bag with armholes, while Mario (Nino) was the same, but pink. Both costumes complete with oversized shoes, mustaches, hats, and overalls; it had been the perfect storm for disaster. Alix and Kim hadn’t let them forget it.

In hindsight, it had been a hilarious situation, but Nino still hadn’t gotten over the embarrassment.

The second the phone had been shoved in Adrien’s and Nino’s faces, the girls’ laughter couldn’t be contained any longer, and Adrien swore their howling could have been heard in Versailles.

Nino’s face changed in an instant. With a wicked grin, he charged forward and pounced on Alya, pinning her against him and bringing her back to his original spot near the railing.

Adrien backed out of the way, sliding over toward Marinette and Lila for safety.

“That phone is going to end up in the water by the time this is over.” Adrien turned to see Marinette was watching their two friends with a small smile on her face.

Lila frowned. “There’s no way. They’ve gotta be more responsible than that.”

At Marinette’s quirked eyebrow, Adrien laughed. “Sorry, Marinette, but I’m with Lila. you must not know Nino as well as you thought if you really think he’s gonna let Alya’s phone fall.”

Instead of arguing, Marinette just chuckled. “I’ll bet both of you twenty euros that phone ends up in the water by the end of this.”

Adrien and Lila looked at one another before deciding, “You’re on.”

With Alya’s phone still in her hand, both smiling, the couple goofed around dangerously close to the railing. Nino finally managed to yank the device out of his girlfriend’s hand.

“Hey,” she said, trying her hardest to sound angry despite her laughter. “Nino, give it back.”

He held it high above Alya’s head, leaning slightly back over the railing. “Nope. not until you swear to delete it.”

Her eye’s narrowed playfully. “Never.”

“Then I guess I’m getting a new phone today,” Nino joked. “Thanks, babe, you’re the best.”

He leaned in for a kiss. Almost knowing what Alya was thinking, Marinette warned:

“Alya,” Marinette warned. “It’s not going to work. You’re going to get your phone dropped in the river.”

Naturally, Alya didn’t listen.

With her lips on his, Nino made the mistake of letting his guard down. Alya reached for the phone, practically climbing him, and Nino jerked it away-- just a little too hard.

As the five teens watched the phone soar in the air, there were several different reactions.

Alya and Nino were shocked. (cause who knew wrestling for an electronic device near a boy of water could possibly end badly?)

Adrien and Lila were pissed as they handed Marinette a collective forty euros.

And Marinette was just glad that she had finally won a bet.

The phone landed in the water with a quiet plop. It was dead silent, save for Alya’s raspy voice.

“My parents are gonna kill me.”

*********

“I don’t trust her,” were the first words out of Plagg’s mouth the second Adrien closed his bedroom door.

After the Phone Fiasco, the five watched the sunset, content to remain quiet for the rest of their time there-- until Adrien was called home. Nino walked Alya home, promising to take the blame for what happened. Lila offered to walk home with Adrien, but it turned out she lived closer to Marinette than she thought, which meant Adrien walked home alone; promising to text Lila when he arrived. Before leaving, the group did their best to arrange a study meeting that Thursday--provided Adrien wasn’t busy and Alya wasn’t grounded.

Shooting Lila a text that he’s made it home safely, Plagg spoke again. “Did you hear me? I said I don’t trust her.”

“Hmm?” was Adrien’s response as Plagg grumbled, “I don’t get nearly enough cheese for this bullshit.”

“Language,” Adrien warned as he walked over to his cabinet, tossing a chunk of Camembert to his kwami. “And who are you even talking about?”

Plagg rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’m talking about sausage girl.”

Adrien snorted. “Sausage girl?” He managed to choke out while coughing. “You mean Lila?”

“Yeah,” said Plagg between obnoxious bites of cheese. “Whatever her name is, I don’t trust her. Something doesn’t seem right, but I can’t pinpoint it.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, copying his kwami. “Plagg, you don’t get to judge someone just because you don’t like them. That’s not how it works--”

“What about pigtails?”

“That’s… different,” Adrien frowned. “I can’t explain it, but it’s different.”

“Mmhmm. Whatever you say.”

He growled and headed to the shower, annoyed by Plagg and the fact that he had such a busy week ahead of him.

But what if Plagg had a point? Sure, Marinette had been civil that day, but it wasn’t like she really hid her distrust of him. And how was it fair that the new girl who told fantastical tales of saving crocodiles and being best friends with princes was just accepted.

Not wanting to dwell on the situation any longer, Adrien turned the water on, accidentally burning himself with hot water.

“Ahh, shit.” He yelled as he jumped back, almost losing his balance.

“Language!” Plagg shouted from his spot on Adrien’s bed. “Fuck off,” was his response. Adrien swore he could hear Plagg’s snickering despite the running water.

As he reached forward to adjust the temperature, Adrien noticed several bruises on his right arm. He had never bruised easily, so he knew it had to have been something worth remembering, but he couldn’t think of anything. Shrugging it off, he put it out of his mind. Maybe--

Wait…

Lila had been latched onto him practically that whole day, but he had no recollection of her gripping him hard enough to leave bruises. And why hadn’t he felt anything earlier?

He gingerly ran his fingers over the marks, hissing and moving his hand away quickly when a burning sensation came suddenly.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #of black chats and fallen angels

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sebthesnipe · 5 years ago

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Prophecy of the Procyon

February Prompts 2/17

Prompt List

First // Previous February Prompt // Previous MDP Chapter //Next

The February Collection on AO3

My Dearest Procyon

Other works by me

Prompt: Obey / Oasis

Ship: Prinxiety and Logicality

Original story based on this wonderful post by @underdog-arts

P.S. This is my favorite chapter so far :3

“Can I hold him? Please?!” The whiney voice came, grating on one of the very few nerves Virgil had left.

“I said no.” Virgil replied flatly, pulling the black cat a bit further away from Patton’s pouting presence. Logan had changed back into his feline form about half an hour after the introductions were made. Virgil had quickly scooped up the cat, hands sliding under his front legs, before he could dart for their new companion.

The fur covered creature pinned Virgil with an even and unamused look as he was yanked away from Patton’s small form. The whole thing was ridiculous and if Logan didn’t know any better, he would assume that Virgil was either jealous or overprotective of him. He supposed that he should be flattered by the idea, but for the most part he was just tired. It had been a very long day.

“Come on, Patton,” Roman interjected, which Virgil was extremely grateful for, “let's leave the grumpy gus to sulk on his own.” He wrapped an arm around Patton’s shoulder, surprised by the amount of heat his small form gave off. “Why don’t I tell you about the palace I grew up in?”

“Oh! That sounds wonderful, Roman!” Patton agreed eagerly.

“Well, it is…” Roman paused, his elation fading slightly as he realized what he had said. “Was,” he corrected before moving on without missing a beat, “beautiful! Tapestries and landscapes of exotic places as far as the eye could see!” He lifted his free hand, waving it in front of them as if to help visualize the scene. “It was an oasis of culture in the desert that is our society! There were countless rooms for every occasion, guest, and activity! I had a whole staff of people waiting to obey my every command! And during the summer…”

Virgil tuned him out as they continued walking, once more thankful that the two had each other to keep themselves occupied. He had no time for their antics. They needed to focus on the task at hand. They were getting closer to whatever awaited them at the end of their journey and Virgil was keen on preparing for it. Whatever ‘it’ was.

He shifted Logan to his shoulder, allowing the cat to climb up and into his backpack, no doubt ready to curl up and sleep for the night. He paid close attention to the way the weight shifted on his back, curious if the beast was actually settling down or sneaking another peak at their new companion.

‘All that is gained, will be lost again. Never to be found for the one without hope.’ The words echoed through his thoughts as they often did when he was alone long enough to think. He still didn’t quite understand the fortune given by the seer, and perhaps he never would. Fortunes were funny that way, they only ever seemed to make sense after they had come true.

He had asked Logan what it could mean, but the man knew about as much as Virgil did; and Logan had been the one to provide him with that little gem of fortuity in the first place?! They had discussed the possible meaning over the long spanse of their journey, but not much had come of it aside from the conclusion that Virgil was, no doubt, ‘the one without hope’. It was fitting really, he had never been an optimistic person, and certainly didn’t plan on changing that now, prophecy or no prophecy.

‘You’re fidgeting, Virgil.’ Logan’s mind brushed against his, stirring him from his thoughts. Virgil gland down at where his hand was toying with the clasp of his cloak, no doubt causing his pack to jostle, disturbing the feline.

“Sorry,” the witch mumbled with a sigh, dropping his hands.

‘You seem more uneasy than usual.’

“Do I?” Virgil snapped in return, glaring at the ground in front of him as he pressed on. “I wonder why?! Maybe it has something to do with the pyromancer you decided to bring along like a new pet.’

‘Patton chose to come along on his own accord. He is important to this journey, Virgil.’

“No, the dragon is important. Not some half baked pyromaniac.” He growled, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that the prince and the man in question were still deep in conversation.

‘Your reaction to him is a bit extreme.’

“You could have at least asked me first. I thought we were in this together?” The words were spoken in more of an annoyed and defeated whisper than an accusation. Regardless, they certainly struck home if Logan’s sudden silence was anything to go by. Virgil knew he should feel at least a little remorseful for the shot against his partner, but refused to allow the feeling to take root as he ducked beneath a low hanging branch.

“-anyways, Virgil?” Roman’s voice came, pulling the witch’s attention back into the world around him. How long had the prince been talking to him?

“What?” Virgil huffed, as the man hurried forward to stand next to him.

“I said, where are we headed, anyways?” Roman repeated.

“Oh, dear,” Patton squeaked loud enough that Virgil assumed he had pulled up right behind their more muscled companion, “you mean you’ve been traveling with them and you don’t know where you’re going? Roman, you really ought to be more careful, kiddo. You’re a prince! What if someone wanted to kidnap you and hold you for ransom or something! You could be in real danger and you wouldn’t know where to find us! And what if you were hurt?!” The dragon smaller man looked aghast with concern as both Virgil and Roman glanced back at him. The prince, however, found it amusing, and gave a boisterous laugh.

“It is a bit late to start worrying about that now. I’ve checked off that whole list, minus the ransom.” Roman teased lightly, causing Patton to go wide eyed in horror.

“You were prince-napped?” he gasped, “How did you get away?”

“Well,” Roman grinned, glancing at Virgil, who was not amused. The witch gave a roll of his eyes before starting to move again, obviously expecting the other two to follow. “I haven’t escaped yet.”

“You mean…” Patton trailed off as they began to walk on.

“Yup. The prince-nappers are none other than your two favorite magic users,” Roman clarified.

“No!”

“Yes.”

“You weren’t kidnapped.” Virgil huffed, pulling his hood up so that he could sulk in piece.

“Prince-napped,” Roman corrected.

“Whatever! You weren’t… that,” the witch grumbled.

“I was tied up and gagged!” Roman swooned dramatically as if it truly was an atrocity.

“Oh, poor Roman! I hope it wasn’t too bad. You weren’t hurt were you?” Patton cooed, genuinely worried; or at least acting as if he were.

“Do not fear, my dear Patton! It takes a lot more than a bit of witchcraft to wound me!” Roman boomed, striking a pose that made the shortest of the three give a giggle.

Virgil felt his pack shift, signaling Logan’s movements as the cat peaked out from the opening of the flaps at the sound of Patton’s twittering laughter. The whole thing had Virgil’s hackles raised. He gave a low growl, wishing he were back in raccoon form so that it would be socially acceptable to claw at them both.

“Like a knife to the side?” Virgil countered flatly, pausing to turn, bringing attention to the large blood stain that still marred Roman’s ripped shirt. “You were not kid-prince… WHATEVER-napped! You were found bleeding out in the middle of the road! I-” ‘We’ Logan’s correction came.

“We found you and healed you! The ropes were a precaution! Your family is responsible for the genicide of my people and I wasn’t going to take the chance that you might try and hurt us! The gag was because you obviously talk too much!” Virgil snapped shoving his index finger into the prince’s far too broad chest, shaking slightly in his agitated state.

Roman’s smile faded at Virgil’s words, his expression turning stoic as he stared down at the beautiful and angry man. He didn’t even bother denying the witch’s words. He knew the atrocities his family had committed and despite his best efforts, he had never been able to stop them. It was always ‘this is how a country is run, Roman’ or ‘when you’re king you’ll understand, Roman’; but he doubted he would ever understand and now… now he was fairly sure they were all dead, no doubt haunted in the afterlife by the very people they had ostracized.

“V-Virgil…” Patton’s watery voice came as he tried to hold back tears, “Is that true?”

The teary gaze caught both of their attention, surprised that someone would be so openly moved by their own emotions. Virgil allowed his hand to drop, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention.

“Well… I mean…” Virgil stuttered, unsure of himself.

“You saved Roman?” he whispered in awe. Virgil tensed as he realized that the man was tearing up, not in remorse for the countless that had died at the hands of the royal family, but that Virgil had valiantly rescued an injured man. He was not accustomed to admiration to say the least.

“I guess?” Virgil offered, averting his gaze sheepishly.

“There is no ‘I guess’ about it! Virgil is a hero!” Roman bellowed, an arm suddenly wrapping around his slender shoulders.

Virgil’s eyes went wide at the sudden change in tone along with the physical contact, which he most certainly did not lean into. He panicked, shoving the prince away from him, shoulders hunched with tension.

“I’m not a hero!” he growled viciously before turning on his heels, completely done with the two of them.

“Yes you are,” Roman argued, just managing to catch himself before hurrying after the witch, “and once I have regained my Kingdom I shall have you knighted! Ser Virgil the Vitriolic!”

“I don’t even know what that means!” the witch huffed in annoyance.

Patton wiped away the tears in his eyes as he began to follow the two arguing men, unable to ignore the fond warmth that began to bloom in chest. It was nice to be part of a group again, to be included. He wished the others could be there. It wouldn’t be long now. Everything was coming together just as it was meant to…

To be continued….

Taglist:

@hiddendreamer67 @nightashes @aequinoctiale @sumersnowlilly

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ghoulluck · 7 years ago

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When Nico dreamed, it was a great darkness -- big and vast. It swallowed up every scream, every spell -- everything. After years of trying to fight her dreams, she had accepted it. She would sit in the plane of space, staff of one floating over her and illuminating the very little she could see. The little light it gave her only highlighted the darkness around her. Nico stared out, imagining it would make shapes until she would wake up feeling like she hadn’t slept.

She wiped back her inky blue hair as she sat up in bed, hands in her lap, Staff of One laying next to her in bed and brown eyes trained on the mirror across from her bed. Nico passed a hand over the space in front of her, effectively wiping away what she saw to check on her mother. Tina was downstairs sifting through her physical mail while Robert actively avoided her mother.

“Dad?”

The man looked about himself before carefully whispering back, “Yeah, pumpkin?”

“Is she angry today?”

His eyes found the reflective surface she was speaking to him through and he walked towards it so he could speak more softly, “No. Not yet at least.” Nico’s mouth pursed and he adjusted his glasses carefully, “It’s okay. I love you.” She didn’t say it back and her image faded on the turn of metallic rings.

She dusted her hands as she passed her hands down her legs under her blanket. They were sore from cutting into the soft skin. Nico bent her elbow to inspect her arm and noted that her mother’s grip had left a heavy bruise. She breathed in deeply as she struggled to move.

She wobbled as dragged herself off the edge of her bed.

Nico smoothed her night gown over her cuts as she made her way to the shower. It was saturday and if she was lucky she could avoid her mother by going over to Julien’s instead. She plucked her phone from it’s charging port on her dresser as she made a detour instead.

Julien picked up on the first ring.

Nico couldn’t help the tug of a smile when she heard the blonde’s tiny yawn, “Morning.”

The blonde hadn’t bothered to get off the floor yet. She had fallen asleep playing grand theft auto with her brother who lay asleep on his side, an arm haphazardly draped over his doberman, Lily. She reached out to play with a little bit of his long hair as she shouldered the phone.

“I was hoping you’d want to spend today with me,” Nico stated hesitantly as she picked open one of her drawers cautiously to pick out some underwear. She can almost hear Julien smile as the blonde tosses her long blonde hair back with a nod Nico can’t see, “Yes, but training at --” She checks her iwatch with a sigh, “In twenty.”

The blonde woman cautiously rises with a creak in her back that makes her grimace in pain.

“Do you want to pick me up after?” Nico’s teeth clasp her lower lip as she waits on the response. She’s almost always afraid that one day Julien won’t like her as much as Nico likes the cheerleader.

They don’t exactly come from the same worlds. The Minorus are wealthy -- hell the only reason Julien is in Atlas academy was because she had earned a scholarship. Julien’s adopted Fathers were both part of LA’s police department, Hart in cyber crimes and Antoly as a beat cop and a trainer for MMA fights.

It was a far cry from the glass dollhouse Nico lived in with her mother and father. The teenager treaded carefully in her own home. Her mother had a nervous break down after her star child -- Amy had killed herself. It was a grim reminder that her own mother didn’t love her as much as she hoped they would. Recently, she had discovered her father’s affair with a childhood friend’s wife and that had driven a wedge between them. He could easily have taken them out of the situation, but chose not to.

“Yes.”

Julien’s answer brought her out of her thoughts and she smiled.

“Can we go to the art museum again?”

She had discovered not too long ago that like Nico, Julien had her own special gifts. Together, their power multiplied beyond what they individually could not do on their own.

“Are you thinking about what I’m thinking?” the goth asked as she looked at her standing closet to see what dresses were still clean. Julien hummed on the other line as she went to her bedroom, “We can go to standing rock.” Being able to read each other’s minds was like a blessing. “Yeah, have that picnic we talked about,” the goth stated as she pulled the perfect black dress from her selection, “See you in like an hour or two, yeah?”

Julien nodded, “I like you.”

Nico smirked to herself a bit, “Yeah? I like you too.”

The blonde smiled to herself a little and she hung up the phone to set it aside. She picked through the mess on her floor to find her doberman curled up in one of her more recently used sweaters. She gave him a kiss and his ear flicked at her face when she did so. Adolf was not a morning pupper. She pulled a pink dress and Nico’s black jean jacket from the floor for later, stuffed it in her bag, grabbed some hygiene stuff and changed into her ever preferred pink sportswear.

She pulled her long fairy blonde hair into a high pony tail to keep it out of her face. She didn’t bother with cleaning up her smeared mascara or removing her lashes. Instead, she strode out with her bag, pulled some shoes on -- ran back for a pretty pair for later and went to kneel by Zedd who was still asleep on the floor. She shook him lightly to try to wake him which only resulted in a very cranky Lily.

“What?” Zedd croaked as he tried not to glare at her and the sun.

“Can I borrow your bike?”

He looked around, “Why can’t you borrow Dad’s car?”

“Nico smiles more when I bring the bike.”

He grimaced as he shuffled through his pockets noisily for the keys. He passed them over to her when he found them and Julien leaned over to kiss his face which made him smile just a little bit. “Be careful,” he warned his sister as he rubbed her shoulder. Adolf sulked over to Zedd to lay on him. The teenage boy made a deflated sound as he dragged a pillow over his head to keep the light out of his eyes.

Julien greeted the funny looking pit bulldog mix that sat beside the pretty disabled woman. Paulina was a family friend of the West-Moore’s and by all means was always present at her child’s training sessions. She greeted the blonde teenager with a smile and Julien returned it as she dropped her bag next to her dad. Hart still preferred the title of dad, mom still didn’t make her completely comfortable. She put one pretty muscular arm around Julien and made the teenager duck her head to kiss it.

“How was worship?” Julien asked the two women.

“It was good,” Paulina answered, “Ryan and Hart came, we had light breakfast after and we came to practice.” The older woman still had a bit of a Spanish accent, but Julien enjoyed it immensely. “Sounds fun,” the teenager commented as Hart curled her fingers with the little tip of the blonde’s pony tail. “Yeah, you sleep okay? I know you and Zedd stayed up pretty late.” Julien nodded a bit with a shrug. The floor always made her jaw hurt, although she couldn’t think of any good reason why it shouldn’t hurt with all the chewing she had been doing lately.

Her dark brown eyes darted across to her other dad. Antoly was currently in the ring with Paulina’s kid. There was something undoubtedly off about Ryan and Julien did her best to avoid the other. Ryan’s dad and his wife were off to the side talking quietly before she bent at the waist to pick up her kid to go.

“Did my pretty princess eat anything yet?” Antoly’s voice brought Julien out of her mild trance and her eyes went to the big blonde russian. She was always happy that he was blonde like her. He was a little too young to be a dad, so she was constantly questioned on if he was her brother. She was elated to be anything to him at all. Julien also knew better then to lie to her dad, “No.”

Antoly’s face had a look of mild disappointment, his blonde brows furrowing and his mouth pressed downwards, “You know the rules.” Hart wore the same expression, but his was knit in concern when Julien’s breath shuddered in milk panic. Antoly had promised to start enforcing his rules, training on an empty stomach was not allowed.

Paulina couldn’t help overhearing the pair talk to their child and grasped around her wheelchair for the bag on her handle. She pulled out one of Ryan’s blenders and handed over the pre-mixed mush. She’d just make Indy mix their little dark prince a new one. Julien looked at the massive blender. It wasn’t that big really, but she could imagine the calories alone and that made her feel sick to her stomach.

You have to eat if you want to be a police officer.

Julien shuddered at the memory of sitting on Nico’s lap in the locker room before grabbing the shake with a nod of thanks. She glared at her blonde father who smirked a little and silently thanked the woman for being so kind. He went back into the ring and Julien forced herself to have at least half of the shake before she was allowed into the ring.

The blonde had the courtesy to clean it out of the remaining mixture and made sure the water made her hands red before handing it back to Paulina with an air of gratefulness. She joined her dad in the ring and they got right to it.

When training was over, she showered, got dressed for her date and applied a fresh coat of makeup on her face. She did it extra pale pink and glossy just for Nico. She pulled on her girlfriend’s jean jacket, folded up the arms since they weren’t long enough for her and changed her shoes. She felt bloated, but the work out at least helped.

Julien made her way out to the bike and pulled up the seat to put her backpack in it. In the spot across from her Indy was folding up Paulina’s wheel chair as she sat in the cabin of the truck with her arm over Ryan’s shoulders and her fingers playing with the short dark hair.

Julien briefly wondered what it was like to be a parent to kids like them.

She put the seat down and slung a leg over it as she coiled up her hair to keep it from whipping her in the face. She pulled her phone from her cleavage to shoot Nico a text, that it wouldn’t take her more then fifteen minutes to be right over. She pulled out of the parking lot before the truck did and hit the gas to get out the way as quickly as possible.

Julien played often with the idea of getting a red bike better accustomed to her height. She’d have to buy it herself because she didn’t think she deserved to just ask for such an expensive thing from her dads, but knowing them they’d figure out something for her if she just asked. The ride was pleasant, filled with the familiar sounds of LA traffic and people. She parked about a block away from the Minoru house and sent her girlfriend a quick text that she was waiting in their usual spot.

When Nico came out of the house, Julien could spot right away something wasn’t right by the hurried away her girlfriend crossed the street to her. She didn’t give Julien a kiss and instead wrapped her arms around the taller girl’s waist with the urgency to go. The blonde immediately took off.

It wasn’t until they had nearly reached the Art Museum that Julien stopped.

She twisted around to get a good look at Nico and shuddered when the other girl refused to let her get a good look at her face. Tina had never hit Nico before. Usually Robert would have intervened before things got too out of hand. The goth girl fought the blonde before breaking down into tears, “I broke the trophy. I didn’t mean to. I bumped the corner. I broke--” Julien clasped Nico’s face between her hands to try to get her to look at her, to focus, to breathe.

When the goth caught her breath, she broke into fresh tears, “She’s never--” There were a lot of things Tina was, a bitch, a cold shoulder, an emotional abuser, but beyond grabbing Nico’s arm too hard and just bruises from a stone tight grip, Tina had never hit her or her Dad. This was a new occurrence. Tina was a kyōiku mama, nothing more nothing less. It was too awful to say. It couldn’t have happened.

Julien kissed the side of the other’s face, soothing the pain and making the evidence go away before Nico caught her mouth to drown it all out.

#julien*#nico*#indy*#paulina*#hart*#antoly*#zedd*#lily*#adolf*#andrea*#fritz*#sin magia ofelia #robert*#tina*#tw: self harm #tw: domestic abuse

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nicolasninenien · 8 years ago

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Singaporean Paradigm

Statistically, Singapore’s education system has produced outputs of stellar academic results over the last few years, beating many illustrious international academic institutions. I must admit, the system is indeed an excellent one in providing a world-class education.

However, although it’s ranking in the international field is remarkably astounding, it comes with a heavy price upon those giving the end product. Not too long ago, I read an article about an 11 year old boy who committed suicide because he did not meet his parents’ academic expectation. This is indeed a tragic story; that young boy had a promising future ahead of him but it was taken away simply because of an ingrained culture that sweeps every Asian sub-conscience. Elitism 101.

The stress on excellent academic performance is crucial in Singapore. As such, this attitude spawned many ‘Tiger mums’ and ‘Lombardi dads’ to go crazy on their kids at a very young age, enrolling them to specialised tuition centres, music and art classes. In result, this emboldens the child’s capabilities and skill sets, enabling them to perform extremely well in schools. However, we must not neglect the silent few, the ones who can’t cope with such a system. Well, I was one of them.

I was a late bloomer. I was fascinated with cartoons and was rather mischievous in tuition classes (surprisingly, I was well-behaved in school though I do get punished in school at times). I was not interested in the Maths and sciences, I had no intention of even doing the assignments and homework given to me. I was a kid, I wanted to have fun playing with my friends. However, my parents reception to my behaviour was not well received. They placed me in many numerous classes, during the weekdays and the weekends. The tutors did their best but their efforts were futile, I still failed most of my subjects. As such, it really hit me and I thought that maybe I was dumb. I actually believed that I was stupid, incapable of thinking and logical rationalisation. In turn, my esteem was shattered pretty hard. When I was 12, I received my Primary School Leaving Examination (PSLE) results of 163. I still remembered the look on my mother’s face, a face I could not bear to see. A face that projected sheer disappointment and anguish.

The look on her face stirred my emotions quickly, without hesitation. I thought my life was over. “This was it, I’m such a loser”. Those kinds of sentiments rushed through my head, inside the wandering mind of a 12 year old kid. I felt lost and hopeless. However, that did not deter me. I gazed upon my mother’s face with a rousing determination: I made a bet with her. “I will enter the Express Stream”. She nodded without much enthusiasm.

As such, I entered secondary school with a drive to excel. I wasted no time with work. I wanted to be the best in all aspects, no matter what. Finally, at secondary 2, I was no longer in the Normal Academic Stream (NA). I was promoted to the Express Stream. It was glorious, a gamble I made that came true. I still remember the moment of elation when I received the news in the classroom. My efforts were not in vain.

Upper secondary came along, it was smooth sailing from the start. It seemed as though everything was in my favour, no obstacles, no barriers. As such, I was doomed from the start. My egoism mounted and my cynicism grew, I thought I could beat anyone in my class (or even the whole Express cohort). I wanted to prove what I was capable of, a former Normal Academic student. I wanted to beat them all. However, things came spiralling down. I was caught up with duties and responsibilities with my Co-Curricular Activities (CCA) in the Prefectorial Board and the National Cadet Corp (Land). I fought with my dear tuition teacher (Ms Yen) as I always made excuses for not accomplishing work given to me. I always feel guilty about that. Then one day, our amazing chemistry from lower secondary fell apart. I did not see her anymore. That’s where I made one of the greatest blunders in my whole academic life, I chose to join a class recommended by a friend of mine. That tutor, his name was Alvin Tan.

I came for his classes. He was so full of himself who talked about his academic achievements in the past, a braggart who manipulated feelings of his students to make them feel weak and useless, even to the extent of breaking friendships that altered and brewed tensions between former allies by creating unnecessary rivalry. I trusted him. He broke me to my very core. He told me I wasn’t suited for the A-level course. He was so wrong.

In the end, I got a raw score of 17 L1R5 for the GCE O-Levels and headed my way to Innova Junior College up north in Woodlands. I came with an idea of recreating myself, to forget the horrid past of Post O-Levels by establishing a wild and passionate persona. It did not go well. Well, things were easy at first. Then came along the real deal, the dreadful lectures and tutorials. Interestingly, as the months go by, my interests in the respective subjects that I was studying was reinforced while simultaneously dreading the work to be done. It was not a pleasant ride. I had a huge circle of friends at first which slowly deteriorated as the months go by. I fought with certain friends in the Student Council (not gonna state their names) and felt extremely vulnerable.

As such, the environment then felt very hostile as I felt alienated and isolated. I felt lonely, physically and emotionally. I was torn apart. Friends come and go, small talks here and there. Cliques everywhere. I felt as though I didn’t belong. What if Alvin Tan was right all along? Am I really not capable of conquering A-levels? Everything seemed so bleak, I did not have the answers. I mixed myself with a girl I thought I was in love with (dumped her in the end though, we were nothing much). It was all too much.

Until one special afternoon, a question that will forever change the course of my JC experience: “Nic, wanna go Wild Wild Wet with us?”. Everything blossomed, I got close with Asaad, Haziq and Ashleey (which at first seemed to unlikely) and they treated me like family. We laughed, we ate together, we played together, we studied together. Everything was doing just fine (well, not in the academic sense).

It was a long and winding road towards the A-levels, we (mostly Asaad and I) clocked in day in and day out in the library. Studying and mugging every concepts, notes, facts and abstract ideas for our essays. We were all sick and tired of failing (I received a rank point of 17 for Prelims) and we felt miserable. However, the company was great. Just the guys studying (sometimes productively) in the library towards one specific goal, conquering A-levels. That’s where we grew closer and stronger as we headed towards the final countdown.

This is where the story of my formal education ends. Well, you may ask how did I fair for the A-levels. I must say, not too good. I got a 60 Rank Point which was pretty average (though I couldn’t get into a local university). Believe me, A-levels was not easy. It was a suicidal course. However, I did took up the challenge where some may say I couldn’t do it (even Ms Yen doubted me). People may say that getting a 60 for 2 years of studying ain’t worthwhile. Well, I disagree. I’ve learnt so many things beyond the classroom. The notion of accountability and responsibility, the power of resilience and attitude, the will to smile through the times of hardships. I learnt that on my own. No teacher taught me that. Life was my teacher. It gave me a hard lesson these past few years in the Singaporean System.

I am eternally grateful to my teachers, those that were kind and patient, those that were brutally straight forward and honest, those that even question my very sanity. I thank them sincerely. Without them, I wouldn’t be typing this out. Throughout my academic life as a student in Singapore, I must say…

I was the victor and the victim. I had my moments of achievements and numerous failures. In these failures, I learnt the importance of humility because I know what it feels like being a complete loser. It sucks tremendously. It breaks your mind and soul, it leaves you in the dark begging for an answer to your perceived predicament. However, life itself is a dimension filled with endless possibilities. As long as you and I are still breathing, we can make the best out of our lives. As a kid, I thought failure was the end of the world. Everything felt like it was collapsing. Failure is an inevitable condition in the human experience. One must embrace it, one must remain calm and composed in the face of great adversities for life is a great big bubble of ambiguity. Our choices does not necessarily define you, it is what you do even when life seemed to be dead wrong. Respond difficulties with kindness and compassion for it shall be returned to the giver. What goes around what comes around.

Throughout this journey, I’ve met a lot of intelligent people. Oh, remembered the aforementioned 'Elitism 101’ nonsense? Well, there are those who were intelligent and there were those who mixed intelligence with blatant arrogance and disconcerting vanity. These people are those who belittle others, who mistreat them saying that they aren’t in the same level as them, in terms of intellectual capacity. Not the same level? That’s true. You know why? Intelligence is not solely got to do with numbers, concepts and statistics. There are different types of intelligence these elitist high horses need to comprehend. Schools test nothing about intelligence. They do not teach. They forgot to teach and thus we forgot to learn. We were instead forced to memorised in order to get an A for a damn certificate. People, don’t mix yourselves to these narrow-minded freaks. Don’t you dare say you’re stupid or whatsoever. You deserve everything in the world and what it has to offer, no one can tell you different. No one. Not even your parents, your siblings, your teachers and your friends. Intelligence and sheer memorisation, two different entities. Totally different things. You’re neither dumb nor stupid. You’re different and be yourself. Be original. Be you.

So, there you have it people, this is the Singaporean Paradigm, a perspective from a student and his great academic adventure from primary school to junior college, a great emotional rollercoaster that was worthwhile riding. It’s time to move along, to a next chapter of my life.

Thank you for everything, MOE

Sincerely, The Traumatised Teen

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dancemotionusa · 8 years ago

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Stephen Petronio Reflects on a Tour of a Lifetime

Written by Stephen Petronio, Artistic Director of Stephen Petronio Company

We’re on our way home from Singapore, the final stop on our tour and I’m the oddest combination of pummeled and elated. This was the tour of a lifetime because it took us to countries on my wish list, but never visited, and combined my deep love of performing with cultural immersion and continuous social service.

Photo courtesy of US Embassy Bangkok

BAM and the US State Department chose us for this initiative, and I remain beyond proud even while the administration I was anticipating to serve under did not turn out to be the one I had expected. The DanceMotion USA℠ /Petronio Southeast Asian tour was grueling, amazing and emotional. I’ve been touring for all of my adult life and lucky to dance all over the planet, but this one is unique.

Photo courtesy of US Embassy Bangkok

Our performances and activities took place in such a variety of spaces, from beautiful French Colonial opera houses, to dusty, rough and ready community centers, state of the art schools and rickety floored studios, all together making for quite a kinky contrast. We were performing in spectacular opera houses throughout Vietnam, equally massive and ornate venues in Thailand, and ending with a slick black box in Singapore, as well as leading over 50 events/exchanges and workshops with a wide array of participants. We worked with highly trained dance professionals, students, teachers and populations with varying categories and degrees of disability. It was significant for us to be engaged so differently – a thrilling and demanding initiative.

Photo courtesy of US Consulate General Chiang Mai

In many ways we were unprepared for such an undertaking. I’ve choreographed for differently-abled companies in the US and the UK and additionally had some rudimentary training prior to the tour along with some basic reading in preparation … but being out in the field is a different animal. The nature of what we were in store for was such a moving target, I don’t know how one could actually prepare in a more realistic way. Often, we were dropped into a room full of so many beautiful students with mixed issues like blindness, deafness, autism, learning issues and survivors of sexual abuse.

Photo: Meghan Rose Murphy

It’s hard to describe the barrage of feelings, the tension of wanting to be effective, the anticipation of knowing you’re going to work with a group of 60 with an age range from 13-60, all with drastically different abilities. And then the power of emotion sings through the room when you arrive through a humid, hot jungle, an hour outside of Chang Mai, to a room of so many assorted bodies, some in wheel chairs, some crutches or canes, faces that are so wide-eyed, open and ready to do whatever you’re about to do with them. It’s immediately clear that so many of these kids just want to be next to you, hold your hand, just show you something from their pocket or just touch you as you walk together to the studio. I loved seeing their excitement or shyness when they introduce themselves through the motion games we’ve devised; the gentle beautiful calm trusting feeling coming from the face of the man who’s about my age but blind and he follows along, our hands linked as we move through the room.

Photo courtesy of US Consulate General Chiang Mai

The program wasn’t really able to do more than to identify need, to hope that we could make our way through these workshops in some kind of meaningful way. And as it turns out, through all the issues, on top of language barriers that add an awkward delay in an already awkward situation, there is the plain fact of the body that moves. And it moves in whatever way it can and to whatever degree. And therein lays the seed for authentic interaction. In every case, from the most advanced able-bodied dancer to the most withdrawn autistic teen, it’s time in a room with presence in the body that is significant. Sharing a presence in our bodies together. We are present and connected; it’s a powerful way to spend some hours.

Photo: Meghan Rose Murphy

The crucial teaching component of this tour was directed towards populations of students with special circumstances—blind, deaf, learning impairments, autism, sexual abuse—a kind of work I’ve rarely done. Its difficulty is compounded by added language barriers, but expanding our normal practice of focused art-making to using our bodies as a way to communicate with these populations on an elemental level is touching me in a way that I never expected. And the loving response in return was an amazing gift to us!

Photo: Meghan Rose Murphy

It’s eye opening to show our work to audiences who have so little exposure to the kind of dance I do, whose main point of reference is often pageantry and traditional Southeast Asian folk dance. It was startling to see what I do in a very new way and to hear new audiences grapple with what they were seeing. So much of the reference for most I spoke to was more externally driven work. I know my somatically-based dances though clear in love of form, were very new. Abstraction was a new discussion for many.

Photo courtesy of US Consulate General Chiang Mai

It’s such a strange life I’ve chosen. A life in dance is complex, rewarding, sometimes painful, financially challenging; and New York has its own peculiarities. But it began with a love of that sense of my body in space and I’m in love with the power of moving all over again.

Photo: Meghan Rose Murphy

And added to all of this, there was the most beautiful discovery of all. It was quite an amazing thing to watch my young athletes, dancers who I know as singularly focused—on the work we do, art and their execution of it and obsession with it—transform into such natural empathetic and compassionate people attempting to meet the needs of each situation. I fell in love with each of them in a new and surprising way. We have now decided to pursue more extensive training and make such work-shopping a more natural part of our teaching pursuits.

Photo: Meghan Rose Murphy

There is a wish for growth and potential to change built into the investigation of movement that keeps me dancing through a span of 40 years. Many times the regular modality of touring is exciting in its presentation to and interface with an audience. Sometimes it’s a run of the mill execution of what we know. This tour to Southeast Asia changed each of us in many ways, and for that I’m deeply grateful.

Photo courtesy of US Consulate General Chiang Mai

#dmusa #exchangeourworld #culturaldiplomacy #southeast asia #stephenpetroniocompany

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